


Made Room for Me

by goseaward



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3945547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/pseuds/goseaward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick wasn't opposed to a relationship with Harry.  He just hadn't really considered it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to eloiserummaging and femmequixotic for their excellent beta work. :) All remaining errors are my own.

Harry hadn't become a better driver in the months since he last gave Nick a ride. He wasn't the absolute horror he'd been when they'd first met, but Nick still let his hand hover close to the door in case he needed to brace himself.

"How's your mum and dad?" Harry asked as he whipped through a right turn in front of traffic.

So they'd covered important business and were back to small talk. Good. Nick always hated feeling like Harry was somebody he needed to catch up with. He liked to keep his friends where he could see them. "Yeah, they're good," Nick said. "I've got, like, a freezer full of spare courgettes from the garden. Fancy a ratatouille tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Great. D'you know how to cook a ratatouille?"

Harry laughed. "Well, like, a rat can make it, yeah? I think we can manage."

"We'll have to get the other ingredients. I think I've got, like, coconut water and nowt else." It was an exaggeration—Nick could feed himself, if not as well as his trainer or his doctor or his friends would have preferred—but Harry liked to cook for him, and Nick liked making Harry happy. He didn't get so many chances these days, with Harry always off on tour; but he had Harry as a houseguest at least for a while (Harry'd been typically nonspecific about how long he was going to stay) and Nick was going to take advantage of it whilst he could.

"I see your plans from a mile away," Harry said. "I'm not buying you that twelve-ancient-grain cardboard stuff again. We're getting a nice French stick like normal people."

"Good, 'cause that's what I want." Nick looked in the wing mirror, then wished he hadn't. It was a testament to his friendship with Harry that they were able to carry on a normal conversation as Nick's life was flashing before his eyes. "And we can pick up some beer for you. I've only got terrible vodka and that green thing Louis brought me from America."

Harry made a face. "Don't drink that."

"Why not? Aren't green things supposed to be good for you? That's what my trainer always says." He wondered how Harry would respond. The real answer was clearly that Louis had only bought it for Nick because it was awful, and a worse than useless gag gift suited Nick and Louis's relationship perfectly. But Harry had a very sweet kind of loyalty to his band, and he didn't like to acknowledge that Louis and Nick didn't always get on. 

"Have you ever had anything to drink in America? It's, like, sugar and piss."

"Mm. Sounds delicious."

Harry snorted quietly. "Don't need to know your kinks."

Nick grinned, though it turned into a grimace as Harry slid through a multiple-lane change and made another eye-watering right turn to a gentle chorus of car horns. It was nice having Harry back in his life again, like he'd been when they first met, really, but he could have done without the death-defying road adventures. "That's not a kink, that's just gay sex for you. Piss everywhere."

"No it isn't." 

"And which one of us is the expert?"

"You are."

"There you go. There's piss if I say there's piss. Nothin' wrong with it, anyway, is there." Harry pulled to an abrupt stop at a red light; Nick flipped down the sun visor to check his hair, because whiplash like that could ruin a good quiff. "Any news on the shagging front for you?"

"No. End of the tour, you know, bit tired." 

"You're destroying my image of your fabulous popstar life." Nick sighed and took out his phone. "Let me text Flacky, see if there are any pretty girls at—"

"Oh my God, you can't ask Caroline!" Harry said through horrified laughter. 

Nick grinned. There were certain easy ways to get reactions out of Harry, and treading on his self-image as a gentleman was one of the easiest. "Why not? I thought you two were friendly."

"No." Harry turned and pointed at him. "You may not ask my ex to set me up with somebody at her party."

"Oh, I'm sure it's fine. That was ages ago."

"I will take away your phone." Harry didn't sound like he was kidding. The light turned, and he wasn't any gentler on the accelerator than he'd been on the brake.

Nick almost said, _Not while you're driving, you won't,_ but then thought better of tempting fate. He almost regretted taking Harry up on his offer to drive—he'd said he wasn't planning on drinking much, so it only made sense—but the cocktails Caroline usually served were worth a few near death experiences. At least they were almost there. "No drinking, no girls. Do I need to be on the lookout for a heroin habit?"

"I didn't say _no_ drinking," Harry said.

"That doesn't answer the question."

Nick could practically see Harry's suppressed eye roll. "No, I have not become addicted to drugs."

"Just checking. Dunno what you get up to on those world tours of yours."

"You should join us on the next one," Harry said. "We're doing South America again, I know how you like a good beach holiday."

"Hmm, maybe," Nick said. A beach holiday whilst getting mobbed by One Direction fans might not be so relaxing. On the other hand, Brazilian men, and seeing Harry more than once in a blue moon. "Liam in a tiny swimsuit is one of my go-to fantasies, after all."

"Hey," Harry said. "Not me?"

"Not a fantasy with you, love, you walk around my flat in your pants every chance you get."

"Or less than pants," Harry said, with an eyebrow wiggle. Nick laughed. "I bet you could get Niall to wear a bikini."

"I am quite persuasive," Nick agreed. "Is this a goal of yours? Niall in a bikini?"

"He's blond," Harry said, as if that was an explanation.

"We could do a whole crossdressing swimwear party. Boys in bikinis, girls in nothing but swim trunks."

"That's one way to see a lot of breasts."

"Just what I've always wanted."

Harry swooped into a parking space too small for his car; Nick grabbed the door as he wedged them in with a couple of passes that might or might not have bumped the car in front of them. "Party time," Harry said with a grin, then practically leaped out of the car. Nick followed at a sedate pace more befitting his advanced years.

* * *

Nick loved Caroline's parties—not just for the cocktails—but of course she had to hold one the first night Harry was back in town. Sitting around getting drunk and watching telly would have to wait for another night. Nick left Harry to his own devices and did his requested stint at the DJ booth; nobody was really dancing yet, so he steered hard into some good trancey background music with the occasional bit of Kanye to liven it up. He made a few circuits of the crowd after that, chatting casually with lots of people he saw twice a year at various sorts of parties and at no other time. Social circles were strange like that. For all Nick knew, these people only existed in trendy London clubs and the occasional apartment. 

Circulating was also a great excuse to try out the entire cocktail menu. Halfway through his third—he was calling it "blue" because he couldn't remember the real name—he washed up against the cute Russian who'd danced with Caroline on Strictly. He was even cuter in person in a sort of button-nosed baby animal way. "Hi!" Nick said brightly.

"Hello," Dance Guy said.

"I'm Nick," Nick said.

"Pasha," Dance Guy said. He stuck his hand out and Nick shook it. 

Pasha also had a blue. "Do you know what this is called?" Nick said, gesturing to the drinks.

"No," Pasha said. He looked genuinely sorry about it.

"Tasty, though. I'm getting Curaçao and..." He took another sip. "Nope, that's it." If he was honest, he couldn't even really pick out the Curaçao by taste, but it had to be in there.

Pasha smiled. "I will ask Caroline," he said.

"Thanks!" Nick took another sip, for a lack of something else to do. Pasha was paying attention to him, but Nick wasn't sure exactly what kind of attention, whether to flirt or not. Pasha wasn't his usual type—bit older than him, thicker through the shoulders. If he wasn't going to take Harry home at the end of the night he'd probably try anyway, but since he was, he'd have to get Pasha's number for later, and that required a little more finesse. "It's nice that you and Flacky stay in touch. Not just friendly for the telly."

"Oh, you watched," Pasha said, a little more animated. "Yes, Caroline and I get along very well. It's nice to see her."

Nick nodded. "Good. Do you keep in touch with everybody, then?"

Pasha looked around and then nodded to a corner of the room. "Well, I am dating Rachel, so I stay in touch with her." He smiled again, broader. No use flirting, then. Rachel Riley looked up, saw them, and waved. 

"Oh, great!" Nick said. He didn't really need to fake the enthusiasm—good for them. "And she doesn't mind you dancing with—"

"No, no, it's my job," Pasha said. 

Nick nodded. "Good luck, then." Nick drained his drink, held it up as if to say, _need another_ , and wandered off. Not his best effort.

Harry was stuck firmly between Pixie and her fiancé, so Nick found Daisy lounging on one of Caroline's posh sofas and invited himself to join her. Not that he had any right to call things posh these days. He had a Saint Laurent bracelet round his wrist, not to mention the empty cocktail glass with a little umbrella that he was still holding in one hand. 

"'Lo, Nick," Daisy said. "I liked the music."

"Thanks, thanks." Daisy was curled up in the corner of the sofa, so Nick sat sideways and draped his legs across hers. "Gleaned any new gossip from this position here at the vital heart of the party?"

"Well, I just saw one of my friends strike out with a straight boy," she said, suppressing a grin.

"Please, make fun of my pain," Nick said. He set the glass on the side table and leaned back against the arm of the sofa, dramatically putting a hand to his forehead as if swooning. Well, he hoped dramatically. He probably just looked like a twat. "I am going to die sexless and alone."

"Aw, don't lose hope." Daisy patted his knee. "It's just temporary. We all have our little dry spells."

Nick sighed and ran his fingers through his quiff. Hard to talk about, even to her, that he was feeling that digit 3 at the start of his age, and he felt like he _should_ want something more than a quick shag or a brief few-week fling, but without being able to figure out what that thing was or if he'd like it if he got it. Maybe he should just try to be happy with his friends, with Daisy dropping by to cook and a permanent spot in Aimee and Ian's guest room and Harry sleeping at his for weeks at a time. "Mmm, maybe you're right," he said finally. "Or I could use Harry as bait. I bet he'd be up for it." Daisy laughed, and Nick sat up a bit to grin at her. 

"Maybe you're looking in the wrong places," Daisy said.

"What would be the right places?"

Just then, Caroline walked by, so Daisy's answer would have to wait for later. Caroline had a killer pair of sparkly black booties on and Nick wanted to get some in his size so they could sit next to each other and laugh at how funny it looked, her tiny little feet and his giant clown shoes. He could definitely pull off a black sparkly bootie. 

"I could definitely pull off a black sparkly bootie, right?" he asked when Harry appeared over the back of the sofa just after Caroline disappeared.

"Yes."

"Ooh, you've got me a yellow, just what I wanted!" Harry passed over the drink at once; Nick had been joking, assuming it was Harry's, but he wouldn't look a gift cocktail in the mouth. "Cheers. Look, it must be American."

Harry frowned for a minute, then grinned at the joke.

Nick laughed and took a sip. Definitely delicious. Might even be delicious if it weren't number four of the evening. "Come over here. Join the puppy pile." 

Harry swung one long leg over the back of the sofa, then the other, and then tottered and slid down until he was sitting on top of Nick's knees. "Mmm, comfy," he said. 

Daisy started petting Harry's hair into different shapes. It didn't hold them as well as it used to when it was shorter and more full of product, but she managed to get wispy waves flowing over the top, like a particularly toothsome Donald Trump. You could really see his receding hairline like that. Nick was very fond of Harry's receding hairline, since as much as he liked having pretty boys around, he especially liked pretty boys with one glaring physical flaw so Nick could feel better about himself in comparison, and Harry's skin had been better lately so he couldn't gloat about that any more. Even though that receding hair was due to an excess of testosterone, which overall gave him a manly charm he didn't deserve, between his wide innocent eyes, and his skinny jeans that probably made his cock very familiar with his taint, and the fact that he was practically an infant.

Possibly Nick should quit after this cocktail.

"I think I know somewhere," Harry said, and stopped.

After a moment, Nick prompted, "Somewhere..."

"Where we could buy you black sparkly booties," Harry said. "It's this shop for, like, drag queens?"

"Harold!" Nick said delightedly. "You know drag queens? Tell me more."

"Not drag queens, plural," Harry said. "Just the one. She's a fan. Or is it he?"

"Either way, usually, with drag queens," Nick said.

"So I was trying to put a costume together and she gave me the name of a shop. I could take you there, if you wanted."

Nick reached out and pushed over Daisy's vague nod to Flock of Seagulls. The hair fell into Harry's face; he didn't push it out of the way. Sort of like having a human doll to play with, Harry. "I know plenty of drag queens," Nick said. Harry nodded like that made sense. "But I don't really want to wear black sparkly booties, I just want to feel like a giant next to Flacky."

"You could do that by standing up," Harry said. Hard to tell if he was taking the piss, or if he'd honestly thought Nick hadn't thought of it.

"Mmm, but it's more fun with ridiculous fashion."

"Hey," Harry said. "'S not ridiculous. I own black sparkly boots."

"And you look gorgeous in them, love," Daisy said. "Nick here would look like a scarecrow who got stuck in glittery mud."

"Aw, you think I'm a scarecrow!" Nick beamed at her. "Thanks for the compliment, love."

Harry reached over and patted Nick's scrunched-up belly.

"No fair, I'm sittin' down."

Harry pulled up his shirt to show off his abs. Apparently he'd been working out on tour. Nick foresaw many excruciating chances to look at Harry's abs, one of the dangers of having him as a houseguest. "Well, so am I, and—"

"Ugh!" Nick pulled up his knees and Harry tipped sideways and almost off the couch. 

Daisy sighed and grabbed Harry's shoulder to keep him from hitting the floor. "Now children," she said mildly. "What do we reserve the physical violence for?"

"Hangovers?" Nick suggested. "Baristas who give you decaf?"

"Rescuing small dogs," Harry said.

"Fighting my way out of a mob at one of Henry's fashion shows. Or really anything with models."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

"But not nice boys like Harry," Daisy said firmly.

"I thought you were supposed to be _my_ friend," Nick said.

"You can take care of yourself."

Nick laughed and finished the yellow thing. 

Harry settled one hand above Nick's knee. "Maybe we should get you home," he said. "You've got to work in the morning."

"Thanks, Dad," Nick said, and Harry got that little smirk that said he was remembering that bloody day like five years ago. But he wasn't wrong—Nick did need to get to sleep, and the bags under Harry's eyes said maybe Harry was using him as an excuse, so Nick stood up and offered Harry a hand.

Daisy and Harry were exchanging some kind of meaningful look that Nick couldn't interpret. He'd ask her about it later. "Bye, Daize," he said, as Harry put a hand on the small of his back to guide him out.

* * *

Harry hung out in the living room, texting, whilst Nick let Pig out then got ready for bed. Nick was putting even odds on him staying up since he didn't have anything to do in the morning and coming to bed since he was exhausted from tour; when Harry took over the bathroom as soon as Nick was out, he figured it was probably the latter. Harry hadn't made a move for the guest room, either, so he was probably joining Nick tonight.

Nick really did have work in the morning, so he callously turned off the lamp before Harry came in. At least he was feeling close to sober, so he'd be fine by the time he had to be awake again. He pulled the duvet up and listened to the familiar noises of Harry brushing his teeth, switching off the light, and stumbling through the bedroom to the other side of the bed (taking out a few of Nick's possessions on the way—still not used to the new house, apparently, though he'd visited on the last tour hiatus). The bed shook as Harry got in under the covers and then spooned up behind Nick, one arm coming over his side and wrapping round his waist. A little more handsy than usual, but not terribly so; might be a hangover from tour. Nick poked Harry's fingers one by one, counting them off. Still five. Good.

Harry sighed out against the back of Nick's neck. "That was a nice party."

"Yep. Flacky throws a good one." 

Harry sighed again.

"That's all right, yeah? I mean, you are still friendly?" Nick reached out and tilted his alarm clock up to check he'd set the alarm; he had. 

"I just wonder if I could've been better for her if we'd started dating now, instead of, like, straight off X Factor," Harry said contemplatively. "I wasn't a very good boyfriend."

"Well, you could try again," Nick said. He was sleepy, but Harry had a pleasant deep rumbly voice that was nice to fall asleep to, so he'd try to keep up the bare minimum of his side of the conversation to keep Harry talking.

"No, I don't think..." Harry paused. 

Nick snuggled in. Harry was cozier than he had any right to be, as bony and muscular as he was. 

"It's like, we have a pattern now, and we'd both just end up hurting each other again, y'know? You don't, like, have different problems with the same people. It's always the same ones. I'm gonna flirt, and I'm not gonna be here, and that's no good for her."

"Would that be different if you hadn't dated before?"

"Mmm." Harry's fingers tap, tap, tapped along the soft edge of Nick's belly. "I'm better at, like. Telling people that's what it's going to be like. Making up for it by doing other things. Y'know?"

"Sure," Nick said. 

"Like, if I'm going to be away a lot, then I have to, like, make it a priority to be with someone when I'm there. If I'm going to see my other friends, then bring that person along. Yeah? And like, video chat, and send them postcards—although it's kind of like writing to my nan when I send a postcard—uh, and make sure I remember the big stuff that's happening even when I can't be there. Invite them out a lot. Stuff like that."

Nick made a small noise of agreement.

"And the, like, flirting. Like, I should date somebody who's okay with that. Because I don't always know I'm doing it, but it's fun, right? And I don't want to stop that just because I'm in love with somebody else. It's just casual, like. So I should date somebody who doesn't mind it."

This was getting a bit deep for a middle-of-the-night conversation, if Nick was honest. "That's very well thought out." For a twenty-one-year-old, he didn't say.

Harry's fingers paused. "We had, like, a psychiatrist along on the last tour," he said. "Just for a bit. 'Cause of Zayn. But it was good, actually. Helped with the, like. Insanity. People screaming at you. Everybody blowing sunshine up your arse." Nick laughed and Harry flicked the skin next to his bellybutton. "Guess I've got you for that when I'm home."

"Guess so," Nick said. "No ego allowed when I'm around." Harry nodded into the back of Nick's head, and it was all feeling too fraught, too deep for Nick's level of alertness. "Plus, when I'm here, you've got to deal with your major big-dick envy— _augh! Styles! No!_ " he yelped as Harry smashed him over the head with a pillow. They wrestled for a couple of minutes until Nick managed to grab the pillow away from him. Harry huffed behind him, but it was all for show; he started rubbing Nick's side, where he'd got him with an elbow, in apology.

After a pleasant minute or two of mild and soporific massage, Harry said, "I like your bed."

"Thanks," Nick said, or groaned, maybe.

"You have good taste."

"Yep. Only the best things for me. Nice bed, nice house, nice popstars..."

"So you just, what, collected me? I didn't get a say?"

"None at all," Nick said solemnly. "And look how successful I was, too. Get a kiss and a cuddle and everything." Harry laid a big wet kiss, with tongue, against Nick's shoulderblade, and Nick laughed and shook him off. "Disgusting. Now I've got spit on me."

"Could get worse on you," Harry said, snuffling a laugh into the back of Nick's neck.

"What a clean, wholesome popstar you are."

"Bit of come never hurt anybody."

Nick tensed for a split second, then hoped Harry hadn't noticed. He didn't think he could scare Harry off merely by being gay at him, at this point, but he did his best to keep Harry firmly in the Straight Friend mental box, and it was hard when casual references to jizz were running around the conversation. "You've never woken up glued to your one-night stand, I reckon?"

"I'm a gentleman!" Harry said in an offended voice. "I get a flannel."

"Oooh, how posh," Nick said.

Harry hummed to himself. "Do I really want to sleep on these sheets..."

"Ugh, I wash them afterwards, you nutter. I'm not that disgusting."

"You just said you've woken up glued to somebody. That's pretty disgusting."

Nick pushed his ribcage into Harry's hand, not wanting to concede the point.

"Suppose it's more of a danger when you've got two people spraying it everywhere," Harry continued thoughtfully. Nick made a questioning noise. "And I guess you'd need a rubber sheet anyway, for all the piss."

Nick choked on an inhale and Harry laughed, tugging Nick back against him. Not the way they usually spooned—not that they spooned all that much—but nice, especially when Harry kissed him behind the ear. "You're the expert," Harry said. He breathed in next to Nick's neck and then his hand drifted decidedly south. "So you'd be the best person to learn from, right?" Nick dared not reply. Was he offering— "I'll make you feel so good. Please." Harry's hand reached the end of its journey, which, it turned out, was softly cupping Nick's dick through his pyjamas.

Harry was smooth, Nick would give him that—he hadn't registered the change in the tone of the conversation till just before there was hand-genital contact. "Um," he said in response. Harry laughed against the side of his neck. 

Nick rolled over in the circle of Harry's arm. Harry's hand took up residence on his arse instead, which was safer territory, though not by much. It was too dark to see Harry's face against the light of the window; he couldn't read his expression at all, couldn't tell if he was taking the piss. Didn't seem like it, though. Nick palmed Harry's side below his armpit then dragged it down, down, and didn't stop as he slid right past where Harry's pants should be, around to the curve of his naked arse. He choked off a groan before it got out. "Fuck. You—"

Harry's lips brushed his own, dead centre despite the lack of light. "C'mon," he said. "I want to." His voice was all gravelly. He rocked his hips forward, his cock already hard where it pressed against Nick's stomach. That must have been some creatively placed spooning before, since Nick hadn't felt it. "I've been thinking about it. Like, you and me. Your dick and my dick."

"That would be involved, yeah," Nick said. "Dick. Lots of dick."

"I like dick," Harry said.

Nick laughed, couldn't help it. "Since when?"

"Like, a while," Harry said. He paused; Nick was sure there was more to that story. "Um, can we talk about that later? 'Cause you've been kind of. Wiggling. And being very slow on the uptake when I was trying to seduce you."

"Aww," Nick giggled. "You poor child. Are we having blue balls?"

Harry laughed too. "Shut up. Don't you have to get up in the morning?"

"Ugh. Yes."

"Well," Harry said, and pressed his cock more insistently against the nearest bit of Nick. "What d'you fancy?"

Nick rubbed his thumb on the edge of Harry's hip and leaned in for another kiss. "Whatever you like," he said. 

There was a faint wet sound from the other side of the bed: Harry either biting or licking his lips. "Handies?" he said finally. 

"Sounds good," Nick said. He licked his hand and wrapped it round Harry's dick. Harry made a soft appreciative noise and grabbed for Nick's.

Nick felt like this should have been more of a surprise than it was. Harry was a demented sex pixie on his most innocent of days, but Nick had always thought of it as a _platonic_ sex vibe. Like Harry just sort of emitted sexy feelings so everyone would have nice tension-relieving cuddles with him. This wasn't zero to sixty. It was, like, twenty-five to sixty. Nick felt proper laddish for thinking in car metaphors, especially with the distraction of Harry adjusting his grip, still not used to wanking someone from the other side—he'd always assumed Harry had experimented with boys, but apparently it was still new. He shied away from that thought, didn't want to be responsible for Harry's feelings about sex with men, so he crashed their mouths together again and tightened his hand on Harry's shaft. Harry twined one ankle around Nick's legs and pulled himself closer, so the backs of their hands brushed as they wanked each other off at slightly different paces.

"Got an idea," Nick said, and batted Harry's hand away. He lined them up and got his hand on both their cocks at once. 

"Fuck," Harry groaned as Nick started jerking them off together. He pinned Nick close to him with one arm behind his shoulders and kissed him again, letting Nick swallow his little moans as he rocked his hips through Nick's hand. Harry was broad and solid against him, always thicker through the torso than Nick remembered from hug to hug, and Nick would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on that Harry could hold him in place so easily. Nick pushed his knee forward for a better angle and started to mouth his way down the side of Harry's face.

Harry lightly pinched Nick's left nipple and made some sort of kissing motion at Nick's cheek as it went by, not trying very hard to make contact. Nick could picture it in his head, Harry's mouth opening like a fish to nibble whatever wandered past, and had to smother his laugh against the spot just below Harry's ear. He lipped at Harry's earlobe and tightened his fist; he had nowhere near a good grip around them both, between the general problem of two cocks and the very specific problem of Harry's impressive girth, but he could at least exert enough pressure to get their dicks rubbing together firmly as they thrust against each other. He had Harry's breath hot in his ear and the taste of his skin in his mouth, the head of Harry's dick catching against his own, almost oversensitive—it should be enough to have him on the edge, but it wasn't quite there.

"Here, um," Harry said, apparently coming to the same conclusion. He rolled to the side and pulled Nick on top of him; Nick had to catch himself with his free hand to avoid taking Harry's nose out with his forehead. But the position was better instantly, Harry's rocking motions moving Nick's whole body and Nick's own thrusts getting to a satisfying depth that stretched out his lower back properly. Didn't need his hand for it any more, so he fell to his elbows on either side of Harry's shoulders and went back to kissing him deep and dirty. 

Harry started petting Nick's back, long strokes up and down that grazed his arse, like he wasn't sure he had permission. Nick had a sudden Technicolor movie in his head of Harry's fingers pressing into the flesh there, pulling Nick into him like he couldn't get it deep enough—really into him, God, what would it feel like to have Harry's arse around his cock. Nick bit Harry's lip, gently, just thinking about it. 

It only took a few more thrusts for Harry to tense against him, and then it was all suddenly warmer and slicker between them. The downside to the darkness was that Nick didn't get to see Harry's face as he came; it was probably as beautiful as the rest of him, and he probably wouldn't get another shot to see it. Nick finished off as Harry panted for air below him, warm and boneless. He had the sense at least to fall to the side. Harry rolled to follow him, twisting his legs around Nick's like he was worried Nick would run. 

"So that's frottage," Nick said, putting as much French zhuzh into _frottage_ as he could. Harry laughed far more than that deserved and kissed him again. "That what you wanted?" Nick asked, unable to help himself, and Harry nodded, his curls bouncing, silhouetted by the faint glow of the window. He dragged his fingers through Nick's slightly sweaty chest hair and then rubbed it the wrong way so it all stood up uncomfortably prickly against Nick's skin.

After a moment, Nick said, "So what was that about being a gentleman and always getting a flannel?"

Harry made a sleepy groan of protest, then levered himself off the bed. "You're so lazy," he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the loo.

"You're the one who wanted to have sex when I have to be up in the morning!" Nick yelled after him. Harry wandered back in with a lovely warm wet flannel, which he used to tenderly wipe Nick's stomach. Maybe he had a point about cleanup. Nick could definitely get used to this—no, no, bad thoughts. This was clearly a one-off. He let Harry dispose of the flannel and then lifted up the duvet all chivalrous-like so Harry could slip in beside him, back into the warm place he'd left behind.

In the morning, he could regret the lack of sleep he'd got. For now, he was going to enjoy the way Harry sprawled across him and fell right asleep, like Nick was the safest place in the world.

* * *

Harry slept through Nick's alarm, spread out all over two thirds of the bed. Nick didn't try to be quiet getting ready—there was nothing he could do that was louder than his bedside siren—so Harry was still asleep, he thought, as he tucked his wallet into his pocket and picked up his shoes. Which was fine with him: his brain was buzzing, and he could use some time to process things and tuck last night's adventures into the box of _ill advised one night stands with friends_ , where they belonged. Not an overly empty box, that one, it must be said. So Nick was surprised when one of Harry's big hands pawed at his knee, not awake enough to grab it. Nick turned and Harry's eyes were open: he grabbed Nick's wrist instead and pulled him down for a soft chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. "'ve a good time at work," he said.

"Thanks," Nick said. Harry's eyes were closed again, so Nick took a good hard look at him. Nick didn't appear to have broken him or caused a mental crisis or anything, although, to be fair, it was still early. He said, "Byeee," to hear Harry laugh as he left the bedroom and headed out to the waiting car.

When he got home from work in midafternoon, Harry was making biscuits in his kitchen (with his cock out, as per). Still no signs of imminent mental breakdown; good.

"How was your day?" Nick said, dropping a bag from the coffee shop on his kitchen table. It contained an orange. He'd been proper healthy this morning and gone for fruit instead of a scone (not at all thinking of Harry's abs whilst doing so) and then of course he hadn't eaten it, because who wanted to be healthy at half-six?

Harry reeled him in with a floury hand on the back of his neck and gave him the kind of sweet, just-a-hint-of-tongue snog that Nick had previously thought the domain of bad rom coms, rather than a thing that actual people did. "Hey," Harry said softly. Perhaps Nick was wrong about his psychological health. "I'm making biscuits," Harry said, like he hadn't noticed Nick's sudden stillness. He stepped back to the countertop and did...something...with some dough in a bowl.

To cover his uncertainty, Nick said, "I'm pretty sure I only had mayonnaise in. Did we give the nice ladies at Tesco a show?"

Harry laughed. "I got dressed," he said. "And then I got, you know. Undressed." 

"Are you planning on putting pants on before you bake that? Because the last thing I want to do is rush you to A&E with a burnt cock."

"That's your major concern? A&E?" 

"Hmm," Nick said, making a big show of thinking. Okay, so they were joking about this. He could joke. "Yep, that's it. The sole reason I would be sad if you damaged the family jewels. A&E waiting rooms."

Harry shook his head, smiling. 

Pig came into the kitchen, tail wagging, and Nick looked around till he found a tennis ball and then threw it into the other room. Her nails click-click-clicked across the tile as she chased it. Pig didn't seem to notice anything wrong. Maybe Nick didn't have anything to worry about. On the other hand, she was a dog; her sense of the sanity of her owner's houseguests was probably a little shaky.

"So is this what you've been doing all day?" Nick said. "Shopping and baking biscuits like a good little housewife?"

"I answered some emails," Harry said. "And I made myself lunch." He did something vigorous with the bowl, which made his bun waggle and his cock flop around. 

Since Harry was looking away from him, Nick let himself appreciate it. He'd always found Harry attractive, he'd never made a secret of that, but Nick hadn't thought he was delusional enough to delve into the Straight Friend box. He had enough sources of drama in his life, thanks. As long as he'd gone there, though, he might as well enjoy the ride. "Well, this is nice and domestic. I've been meaning to invest in a housewife, you know, take care of this place whilst I'm away all day."

Harry frowned. "Invest?"

"They must be for sale somewhere." Pig came back with the ball and he threw it again; it bounced out somewhere into the hall.

"I think you'd have to, like, hire a housekeeper," Harry said. "And a chef. And, uh, a prostitute."

"Got a housekeeper already," Nick said. "By the way, pants on if you're here on Tuesday."

"Oh, quiche!"

"And when was the last time _you_ cleaned a toilet, you man of the people, you?" Pig came in and sat by the sink, chewing on the tennis ball.

Harry frowned in thought. "Couple of months ago. I vommed all over after a night out with the boys, and I didn't think it was very nice to leave it for the hotel maid."

"Well, there you go. I can't go months between toilet cleanings. I'm not an animal." 

Harry hummed and eyed Nick speculatively. Nick felt a flush start to rise on his cheekbones—he didn't have any defenses against Harry, because he'd always thought their relationship was very clear. Nick was normally good at managing expectations from his partners, but he had no idea what to do in this situation. But then Harry turned and went back to...kneading? Is that what he was doing with his hands?...and Nick felt silly for reading too much into it. Harry'd wanted to get off, so had Nick, they'd done it, they'd be fine. As a distraction, he got up to put the orange in the fridge, startling Pig and sending her running out of the room on the way. He had to stop and stare when he opened the door: his usual mediocre collection of real food was completely hidden behind a solid wall of, like, green things. Oh, God, and there were courgettes in the freezer too. There was a reason his vegetarian phase hadn't lasted long.

"Are we hosting a dinner party I don't know about?" Nick said.

Harry glanced into the fridge. "No, I just thought I'd cook whilst I'm here since I've got a few days off. If that's okay?" 

If Nick didn't know him so well he wouldn't have been able to tell that he'd flipped into PR mode, slipping on a mask of nonchalance to hide whatever he was really feeling. Shit. Nick had been so concerned looking for the nervous breakdown he hadn't thought about the more mundane consequences. He was used to one-night stands with friends; maybe Harry wasn't, maybe he usually only slept with people he wasn't friends with first. Nick wouldn't have Harry worry that this would destroy their friendship or something like that. He was too important to Nick for that. "Yeah, of course," he said. "You can get me good and healthy so that when you go back on tour and I slip back into my life of dissolution and booze, I've at least got a few vitamins to work with."

Harry grinned and his shoulders relaxed a fraction: real Harry back, glossy Harry gone. Good. He was starting to spoon the dough (batter? Nick knew nothing about cookery) onto a waiting pan. "And I can spoil you with biscuits," he said.

"Not too many, please, I've got to keep my girlish figure."

Harry honest to God clucked. "I like it when you've got a bit of a tum," he said. "Nice and soft and friendly." He finished whatever he was doing with whatever that type of food was called and put the pan in the oven, with his spare hand to his junk to keep it out the way, then set the timer. "Sit down," he said.

"Yes, sir," Nick said, with a mock salute, and sat down on the kitchen chair, expecting something food-related to happen. 

Abruptly he had a lapful of naked Harry and big green eyes staring into his own. Nick automatically spread his hand out on Harry's lower back to help him stay in place, then shuddered lightly at the warmth of his skin. Every little denial that had run through Nick's head since he woke up started to fall over like so many dominoes. "Eight minutes till they're done," Harry said, voice lower and throatier all of a sudden. "What do you think we should do with eight minutes?"

"Uh," Nick said.

"Yes, I was thinking slow head too, excellent choice," Harry said. He squirmed so his hip pressed into Nick's slowly firming cock. "I haven't done this very much, but you can give me tips. Right?" 

Nick kissed him, helplessly, and Harry put the tips of his fingers on Nick's jaw to change the angle so he could lick into his mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, a tiny part of Nick's brain was chanting, but the rest of him was already ready to go. Harry tasted sweet, like he'd been eating the dough/batter/whatever as he was cooking, and he apparently hadn't been wasting all the opportunities to learn how to kiss that his life had afforded him. Also, he was still smooth as anything, because he was already taking down Nick's zip even though Nick was sure two seconds ago his hands had all been accounted for.

Harry pulled back with a couple of pecks to the corner of Nick's mouth and then his nose. Then, like some horrible dream, he slid slowly off Nick's lap and down to his knees on the kitchen tile, maintaining eye contact the whole time. "Tell me what you want," he said. He dug Nick's cock out of his boxers and then grasped the base firmly with one hand whilst he eased his mouth down over the head.

"Um, that's—fine. Good, yeah, that's good," Nick said. He wasn't all the way hard yet, but it was nice, in a way, with how much of his dick fit into Harry's wet mouth. Harry bobbed, slowly as promised, drawing off like he was trying to get a good taste before pushing back down till his lips met his hand. He was breathing through his nose, audibly, and a bit of spit slid down the side of Nick's shaft from the corner of his mouth. Nick touched his lips there, wiping the rest of the spit away, and Harry's eyes half-closed with a pleased moan. "You're doing great," Nick said, quietly.

Harry pulled back. "Thanks," he said brightly, with a hint of dimple. He kissed up the side of Nick's cock, and then sucked him back down again. He was a sight to see, with that mouth stuffed full of cock and his eyes wide and green, totally nude and kneeling between Nick's thighs, whilst Nick was still clothed except for his cock jutting out from his flies. Nick couldn't see if Harry was hard due to the position, but he'd bet he was. 

When Harry pushed down to his hand again, he half-coughed half-gagged and pulled back fast. It felt amazing, but Nick didn't want to scare him off. This was responsibility, this was, being one of the first guys Harry Styles sucked off. Funny how that thought had got easier since the night before, even if Nick didn't have a handle on the rest of it. "Move your hand up, love, you don't need to take the whole thing," he said.

"Sorry," Harry said, voice roughened. "I didn't think you'd be so big."

Nick wasn't so big, but he'd take the compliment. "Nothing to apologize for," he said. "Maybe lick your hand and then, like...?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He did, and gripped Nick's cock again before sliding his mouth down. He pulled his hand up to meet his lips this time, no gagging required. His other hand was braced on Nick's thigh, and Nick covered it with his own, twining their fingers together and squeezing. Harry blinked slowly again, which usually meant he was pleased and probably, in this context, meant he was turned on, then sucked harder at his mouthful of cock.

Nick wasn't going to come from this, but Harry didn't seem to be trying to make him yet, so that was all right. It was hot enough he could feel sweat prickling along his back and under his shirt collar, though. Harry's mouth was soft and warm and he kept looking at Nick with those big moony green eyes, like this was the exact perfect thing he wanted to be doing right now. He was drooling, but Nick liked it wet. And keeping his jaw that wide hollowed Harry's cheeks and brought out his cheekbones even more, especially with his hair pulled back—Nick had a sudden hilarious mental image of tugging it free and letting Harry's hair spill over his shoulders like he was the girl getting a makeover in a film, but then he'd end up with hair in his biscuits. Bit of a shame, Harry seemed like the sort to enjoy a spot of hair-pulling with his oral sex. He'd sped up, more confident now that Nick was fully hard and Harry hadn't choked again, and the picture of it was wank fodder for the rest of his life. Carefully partitioned wank fodder so they could stay friends and all, if that's where this ended, but...rest of his bloody life, Nick could see it all right now.

The timer went and Harry, admirably, didn't choke, just pulled off and wiped his hand on Nick's jeans. "Be right back," he said, adorably, as if he wasn't just off two steps across the kitchen, and kissed Nick on the cheek before he went to get the biscuits. Nick stood up and started unbuttoning his shirt, shamelessly ogling Harry's arse as he bent down to get the pan out, now that it looked like he'd get to touch it again. Harry switched off the oven and turned, looking vaguely surprised to see Nick up and partially nude.

"I think we should continue this in the bedroom, don't you?" Nick said.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said.

Nick felt silly walking with his cock hanging out, but all the other options seemed worse. He did put a hand in the way as they passed Pig, though, where she was contentedly chewing on her tennis ball; Harry laughed behind him when he did. Once they were in the bedroom with the door safely closed to keep out wayward pets, Nick sat down on the edge of the bed and wiggled out of his jeans (his calves looked great in his skinnies, but there were certain disadvantages, such as how long it took to get them on and off) whilst Harry sprawled across the duvet and jerked himself lazily. He was, as Nick had assumed, quite hard, even a bit wet at the tip—the boy liked giving head as much as Nick had always assumed from the constant supply of chewing gum, then.

Nick crawled up the bed and pushed the duvet down, then piled up a few pillows into the right shape. "Okay. Continue," he said, leaning back and gesturing grandly to his crotch, and Harry laughed before rolling between Nick's legs. Nick had to spread his thighs to accommodate Harry's broad chest and shoulders, which sent another hot pulse of arousal skating over his skin.

Harry went right back to work with gusto. When he looked up, it was easier to meet his eyes from this angle. He had a tiny frown of concentration going as he bobbed up and down on Nick's dick, but his hips were jerking the slightest bit against the covers, tan against Nick's pasty autumn white shins. It sounded like a proper blow job and it felt like one, too, but Nick was having trouble getting his head round it, Harry between his legs and watching Nick eagle-eyed for any hint of what he wanted. He'd never considered it before, and there was something important about it, something different than Harry on his knees. Harry in the kitchen was a shag; Harry in his bed a second time meant rewriting every time they'd ever shared a bed or a cuddle into something that led up to this, sex in the afternoon because they felt like it, because they could, because they both wanted to.

But Harry had said he wanted instruction, and Nick could give him that. "You could use your tongue a bit," Nick said, feeling ungrateful despite the request. Harry gave him a thumbs up, which was adorable, and then teased Nick's slit with his tongue, which was—definitely something other than adorable. A few more soft sucking passes and Nick was petting Harry's cheek, saying, "I'm close, love," feeling protective. Then Harry nodded his head around his mouthful, eyes wide like Nick had just said the hottest thing in the world, and that was it, Nick was shooting off down his throat.

Harry did choke on Nick's come, which was, it turned out, extremely hot in a way that Nick didn't particularly want to examine. Nick grabbed the tissues and handed a few over, and Harry croaked, "Thanks," sitting up red-faced as he coughed. Nick kneeled up next to him and rubbed his back. There was a glass of water left on his bedside table from the night before, and he passed that over too; Harry drained it.

"Sorry," Harry said when he could talk again. "Um, that was kind of, like...all at once."

"Don't apologize," Nick said. "At least you didn't vom."

He laughed. "Has somebody done that to you?"

"No," Nick said. "I, ah, I might've done it to somebody else, though." Harry snickered. "Hey, it was very traumatic!" 

Harry leaned his head on Nick's shoulder and sighed. 

"D'you want me to return the favour?" Nick asked, eyeing Harry's dick, which hadn't softened at all.

"I dunno, are you gonna vom on me?"

"Got that sorted now, thanks," Nick said.

"Okay then."

"All right. Lean back on the—"

"I do know how to _receive_ a blowie, thank you," Harry said. He settled himself back where Nick had been and tilted one knee up, inviting. He did look good like that, and his cock looked massive. Nick smiled and Harry smiled back.

He reached over and tweaked Harry's nipples, watching Harry's eyes widen. Information to store for later. He dragged his fingers down Harry's torso, past the butterfly and across the laurels on his hips, and he held Harry in place whilst he fitted himself between his legs. He started off easy: slow movements up and down, one wet hand on Harry's shaft, the other rolling his balls in their sac. Harry spread his thighs out more, and Nick sucked a little harder, moved a little faster. He liked getting his mouth fucked, sometimes, but Harry had been so solicitous of him and he wanted to return the favour and take care of everything. 

Harry was predictably gentlemanly: he fisted his hands in the sheets instead of Nick's hair (good, Nick hated the feeling of his hair getting messed up); he didn't move his hips one centimetre even when Nick did something that made him moan. Nick was proud of his oral skills, since he'd had to work so hard for them—he was _not_ a natural, unlike certain well-endowed popstars of his acquaintance—and it didn't take long before Harry's breath was speeding up and Nick could feel his thigh muscles twitching where they pressed against Nick's arms. He wanted to blow Harry's mind, he wanted to be so good that he'd keep coming back for more, he didn't, much to his surprise, want this to be the last time they did this.

Fuck it, he didn't have to work for at least twelve hours. 

Harry was _loud_ when Nick went all the way down. To be fair, it probably didn't happen much—Harry was both girthy and long, and Nick wouldn't say it was easy, exactly, even with his slag-like ways and copious practice, to swallow him down. He pulled off quickly and worked his tongue around the head whilst he built up enough saliva to do it again. Went down again, up, down, and Harry shouted and came. Nick did love a spot of feedback.

"Fucking hell!" Harry said, panting, when he was done. 

Nick let Harry's dick slip out of his mouth as he laughed. He crawled up the bed, pulling the duvet as he went—not everyone was used to wandering round in the nude, and he was getting chilly—and Harry wrapped him in a huge bear hug as soon as he was close enough. "That was amazing," Harry said fervently.

"Not bad yourself," Nick said. Oh no, his voice. But he was giddy, still, like the only possible reaction to making Harry come that hard was laughter. 

Harry kissed him on the cheek and rocked side to side, holding Nick close against him. Very soothing. "I might take a nap now," Nick said. "Some of us have to get up early to work, you know."

"All right, old man," Harry said, laughing, but he rearranged the pillows so they were closer to horizontal and held onto Nick as he fell asleep.

* * *

When Nick woke up a couple of hours later, a freshly-showered Harry was putting on his socks, one hand braced against the wall. Nick pushed the duvet away from his face and looked around—there was a cup of tea and a plate with two biscuits on it sitting on the bedside table. "This doesn't count for my breakfast in bed quota," he said, taking one of the biscuits and biting off a corner. Not bad. He washed it down with the still-hot tea, which felt wonderful on his throat.

Harry smiled. "I'll make it up to you at the weekend."

"Heading off somewhere?" Nick said. That was too much clothing for wandering round the flat.

"Interview with Annie. We're prerecording it before the show today."

"Hey, are you cheating on me with another DJ?" Nick said, in mock horror.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You'll get an interview too."

"All right. I guess I shouldn't have to shoulder the entire burden of promoting you."

Harry came over and kissed Nick on the forehead and then the nose and then the lips. So...that was a thing they were doing now. "Back later," he said.

"Bye," Nick said.

As soon as Harry was out the door, Nick reached for his phone. Aimee. He needed to talk to Aimee. Bit of light chatter, ask about her day, then gently segue into the fact that he'd been adopted by Harry Styles for nefarious sexual purposes. 

"Holla," Aimee's voice came down the line, staticky in that two-mobiles way.

"Hey, Aims," Nick said. "I've just had sex with Harry."

After a brief pause, she said, "On purpose?"

"How would I do that on accident?"

"I dunno," she said. "I thought you two didn't do that." He could picture her, flopping down into her favourite armchair with her legs over one arm like she always did for a chat, settling in for a good listen. She was that kind of friend.

"I guess we do now." 

"Was it good?"

"Of course it was good. Are you slagging off his skills?" Nick took another sip of the tea—made just how he liked it, of course. 

"No, just curious. That's good. How badly are you freaking out?"

Nick sighed. "I'm not—"

"Fine, you're having no trouble at all. And you're calling me just to share the news." He could picture her facial expressions, too, the amused frown to her mouth and the quirked eyebrows she got when she was disappointed with Nick's explanations for his behaviour. It didn't say anything good about him that she had a specific expression for that occurrence. 

Nick rubbed his forehead. "Like, I knew he was going to stay here for a while, since he got rid of the house and all. But now, like, my fridge is full of veg and there are homemade biscuits and he kissed me goodbye just now."

"That seems kind of intense for a one-night stand," she said, making it almost a question. Sharp woman.

"I don't think it is," Nick said. "He mauled me when I got home today and then we took a nap together. It was weird."

Aimee laughed. "You two taking a nap together in the middle of the day isn't weird."

"They're not usually naked naps."

"No offense, but it sounds like he's being pretty clear about his intentions. He only got in yesterday, right?"

"Yeah." Nick burrowed down into the bedclothes. "He hasn't said anything, really, though. Just started groping me and I thought, why not?"

"Well, you can be a bit..." Aimee said.

"What?"

"You don't talk about the hard stuff." Some noise came through, like she was shifting in her chair. "But, I mean, you must be doing okay, or he wouldn't've tried it again."

"I dunno. He got all weird and nervous when I asked why there was so much food in."

"Weird how?"

"Went all pop star interview on me. Said he'd been planning meals, like he wasn't bothered."

"Nick," Aimee said, chiding.

"Yeah, okay, that was saying summat." Nick smashed his face into the duvet.

"And you said yes. Good for you."

"Ugh, thanks." Nick groaned dramatically, hoping for more sympathy. "I'm not built for relationships! Why is this happening to me?"

Dryly, Aimee said, "It was bound to happen sometime. You're irresistible."

"Oh, you're not getting out of this with flattery! You've got to tell me what to doooooo." He brought the mobile around closer to his mouth for that bit, to make it extra obnoxiously loud.

Aimee sighed audibly. "Keep shagging him as long as he's there?"

"What if he just...stays? Forever?"

"Guess you'll be married, then." 

Nick squawked.

"You're not as bad at this as you think you are," she said. "He likes you, you like him, the sex is good, this is how it's supposed to work."

She had a point. "Ugh."

"Yeah, yeah. Are you done panicking now?"

"I was not panicking," Nick said sulkily.

"Sure. Well, I'll let you go finish this little crisis, but I expect more details later. I'll give your love to Ian."

"Ew."

"TTYL," she said, like it was 2008.

"Bye," Nick said into the phone and hung up.

* * *

Harry came back just after Nick went to bed. Nick followed his progress through the flat by sound, and he thought he'd be able to reconstruct it in the morning too with discarded clothes. Sort of like Hansel and Gretel, follow the dirty pants back through the forest. Harry was naked by the time he made it back to the bedroom, smelling like Louis's cigarettes, and he flopped on the bed and immediately cuddled up to Nick. "Hiiiii," he said quietly.

"Hullo," Nick said. "Nice interview?"

"Good, yeah. Went out with the boys afterwards."

"How's everyone?"

"Yeah, good." Harry mashed his face into Nick's shoulder.

"How sleepy are you, then? I'm the one who's got to be up at arse o'clock in the morning."

"My life is very strenuous," Harry said.

Nick hummed and combed his fingers through Harry's unfairly soft hair. 

"And you had a nap."

"So did you. Tired you out with all the shagging, did I?" After his conversation with Aimee, Nick was feeling a bit more secure that Harry meant to actually make a go of this, but he still felt a bit brave about the gentle teasing.

Harry smiled and wriggled closer, so it must be fine. "Not exactly," he said, knocking his half-hard dick against Nick's hip.

"Sorry, but I've got to be up in the morning, so—" Nick was cut off by a pillow to the face. "Oh my God!" he yelled, laughing, and dived for Harry's vulnerable and unprotected ribs. Harry squawked and _kicked_ and the resulting tussle only lasted about ten seconds, but by the end of it Nick's duvet was on the floor, one of his lamps was dangerously askew, and Harry was seated firmly across Nick's hips. Nick tucked away in his memory the poleaxed look that crossed Harry's face when he realized where he was; worth exploring that at a later date.

"Uncle," Nick said. He could tip Harry off with a shimmy, but this was nice.

"Kinky." Harry's big warm hands were settled on Nick's shoulders, near his neck, the palms soft against Nick's collarbones, one thumb idly stroking at the base of Nick's throat. It felt good, grounding. Familiar, even though it hadn't happened before. "I thought you said you were too tired to get it up."

"I did not!" Nick said, outraged, before he noticed the smile Harry was trying not to show. "You might be able to convince me."

"I'm very persuasive," Harry said.

Nick nodded. He started playing with the hair under Harry's navel. "And, you have many...tools of persuasion," he said, with a lecherous eyebrow wriggle. This was actually...fun. He'd been freaking out so much he hadn't really put together the good sex plus usual Harry-related friendly messing around. 

Harry looked at the out-of-shape pillow sitting next to him on the bed, calculating.

"Eyes front!" Nick said. 

Harry stuck out his tongue, then visibly steeled himself. "What if I wanted to persuade you to let me stay here until, like, Christmas?" he said.

Nick caught his eyes and nodded. Harry relaxed, just a touch, just enough that Nick could feel it where his hands were on him. "I expect some very good homemake fruitcake, then. You must be good for _something_." 

Harry smiled, slow, letting it bloom over his face. "It's not actually till Christmas," he said. "We've got a couple of album promo things. But I can come back here when they're done?"

"If you're still putting up with me," Nick said. As fun as this was, he was trying to be realistic: he wasn't the only one in this relationship who was skittish about people sometimes. 

"Yeah. Good point," Harry said thoughtfully. 

Nick gasped for dramatic effect. "No it's not!" His fingers twitched closer to Harry's sides again, but Harry—surprisingly—didn't move his hands where they were pressed warm into Nick's skin.

"No it's not," Harry said. "I mean, it, you know...but...like, four years, yeah?"

"Yeah. God. Four years. You were such a little brat—"

Harry leaned down and kissed him, and the thought was rattling in Nick's head: _how long have you wanted to do that_. But there were some things he wasn't ready to hear the answers to yet.

"Glad you're here," he said, finally, when they'd parted, and it was worth it for the dopey smile he got in return. It was hard not to feel that he was being selfish—leading Harry on, making him think it was more serious than it was. Harry'd got there first, thinking of this as something more than a friendship, and Nick wasn't sure how long it would take him to catch up. Nick knew his own heart—if somebody was getting hurt here, it was Harry, no doubt. He'd just have to work hard to make sure neither of them was wounded when it inevitably came crashing down around their ears. 

Until then, though, he was going to enjoy it as long as it lasted. "You know, I seem to remember you promising you'd make me feel good, and so far— _no! Not the pillow! Dammit, Hazza!"_

* * *

Relationship maintenance: Nick kissed the top of Harry's shoulder when he came home from work the next day, and then his mouth when he turned. Nick figured if he did stuff like that when he remembered it, it would probably happen often enough that Harry might not notice or care that it was deliberate instead of spontaneous. If the dimply grin he got in return was any indication, it was working so far. Nearly forty hours of a relationship. It couldn't be that much harder to just keep going, could it?

"Ratatouille," Harry said, pointing to the stove.

"Escargots?" Nick said.

"Sorry?"

"I thought we were throwing around random French words."

Harry grinned slowly. "Frottage," he said.

"Well done," Nick said. "Fellatio isn't French, is it. Hmm. Croque-monsieur?"

"Fromage."

"Baguette."

Harry hauled himself up to sit on the counter and stirred the pot. "It's all, like, food or sex."

"Ah!" Nick held up a finger. "Ménage à trois."

"Nice," Harry said. 

"The word, or threesomes?"

Harry shrugged. "Both, I guess." He stared intently at the pot as he kept stirring—far more attention that it needed. Working up to something, then. While he waited, Nick opened the fridge. "Hey! No snacking, I'm almost done," Harry said. There really was no need for the protest—everything in the fridge had come from a plant. Nick grabbed a carton of coconut water and headed to the kitchen table; Harry started to talk again as he sat down. "'S how I figured it out."

Nick sorted back through the conversation. Inappropriate snacking, refrigerators, threesomes—oh. "That you like blokes?"

"Yeah." Harry glanced over at him, smiled reflexively in a way that didn't meet his eyes—trying to charm Nick even when he wasn't thinking about it—and then back down at the pot. He was embarrassed, and Nick wasn't about to tell him how cute it was, especially when it was about something this important. "The girl was really fit, and she wouldn't without her boyfriend, so I thought, you know. We can both just do her. Only then I've got his cock in my mouth, and—"

"Jesus!"

"No, just me," Harry said, smirking down into the ratatouille. "But it was nice. And then some other stuff, like, made sense that hadn't made sense before."

"So, you're bi? Pan? Something like that?"

"Something like that, yeah." 

Nick nodded. He really wanted to say, _okay, you didn't have to sleep with me to prove it_. But that seemed a bit insulting. "I'm glad it happened like that. Not, like, you wanking off to Playgirl and crying alone in your bedroom or summat." 

Harry glanced at him sharply, but didn't say anything. Nick could deny it if necessary: it hadn't been Playgirl, anyway. "Me too," he said.

"And hey. If you hadn't had your big gay awakening, maybe I'd still have a freezer full of courgettes."

Harry winced. "Um. It's still, like, full. It doesn't take that many courgettes to make ratatouille."

"How many did you use?"

"Two." Harry stared intently at the pot again.

"Two."

"And we're going to have leftovers for lunch tomorrow."

Nick sighed. "So what you're telling me is, we're going to be eating ratatouille until the next harvest comes in?"

"What I'm telling you is, you should lie to your parents about how much you ate, and throw most of it out." Harry tasted the stuff in the pot and nodded to himself. "Unless you'd like some inappropriate sex toys. They might feel kind of interesting, fresh out of the freezer."

"I like the way you think," Nick said.

"So, sex toys?"

"Yep." Nick paused. "D'you think I could give some to Louis as a thank-you for the liquor?"

"I don't think you need to thank him," Harry said, bless his diplomatic little heart. He got two plates out of the cupboard and started dishing up the ratatouille. "Do we have any wine in?"

_We_. Nick thrilled to hear that, and it wasn't so much the relationship implication as the fact that it meant Harry wasn't planning on leaving any time soon. "Not unless you bought some when you filled my refrigerator with real food."

"Hmm." Harry set one plate in front of Nick and the other at the spot next to him, then went digging through the fridge till he came up with his own carton of coconut water. God knew why he'd had to dig, they were right in front, but Nick had long ago given up on understanding what went through Harry's brain. "Eat up."

Nick swallowed a few bites. Turned out he didn't like ratatouille that much, but it seemed a shame to waste it, and also he could use a few vitamins now and then. Harry was shovelling his in, but Harry went to the gym (in a way that Nick was now allowed to be grateful for) and needed calories not provided by booze. 

Thing was, this was nice. It had always been nice, him and Harry, even as friends. Didn't have to talk—though they often did—just comfortable. Was that all a relationship was? Like you were friends before, only now you were also friendly with their naughty bits?

"Um, there's one other thing," Harry said.

Nick nodded encouragingly. "Yeah?"

"I'm coming out in Vanity Fair next month."

Nick demurely swallowed his mouthful of food before saying, " _You're doing what?!_ Your fans are going to—"

"They already do," he said, quickly, like he'd had this argument before. In fact, Nick was sure he had. "We've tried everything else. Maybe coming out will shut them up."

Nick gave him his best unimpressed look.

"And, like, don't worry, we'll keep you out of this."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Nick said brusquely. It had all been said before. In fact, Nick had been thinking about it himself since Harry had stuck his hand down his pants, although he was reasonably convinced at this point that he hadn't secretly imprinted on him or something. If he had, he'd probably have been better equipped to handle it when Harry made a move on him. Predatory behaviour or no, though, he didn't think for a second Harry and his team could keep Nick out of it—whether or not they were actually shagging—but that wasn't the problem. "You've had people speculate about you, but the people who didn't like it could always deny it. It's totally different when you're fucking a bunch of blokes." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not a bunch of blokes, just you."

"That's worse. I'm not the right demographic." Harry glared. "Oh, don't look at me like that. They'll call you names and they'll prevent their kids from listening to you and they'll say you're a bad example and I _know_ that's going to hurt you, don't you tell me it won't."

"They already—" Harry was leaning forward, gearing up for the fight. Nick didn't want to give it to him.

"If you come out, it's going to get a thousand times worse."

Harry pushed his hair out of his face, agitated. "You don't know what it's like. Like, there are people who follow me fucking everywhere. Who, like, dig through our trash, and mob us so we can't leave the hotel. You remember that shrine where I got sick, right? I'm used to this, I can handle it." 

He looked so fierce, but he couldn't fool Nick: Nick knew every secret soft place, every way people had found to hurt him. "Not like this, though. Not for who you are."

"It's _all_ because of who I am. Who we all are." He braced his hands on the table. "It's not, like. I mean. A couple of years ago, it would've, like—" He shook his head. "It's not going to be as bad as it was."

"If this is for publicity—"

"No!" Harry said, loud, shocked. "No, nothing like that. It's probably going to—I _know_ it's going to hurt our sales. The boys want me to do it anyway. Because it's gonna get out. Sooner or later. And I want it to be from me."

Nick supposed he could understand that. "Okay. But couldn't you, like, leak it? And then just...not deny it?"

"And what, exactly, do you think would happen to Louis if I did that?"

_I don't care about Louis_ , Nick thought, _I care about **you**_. But Harry cared about Louis, so. 

Taking his silence for agreement, Harry said, "Yeah. And like, do you want me to be ashamed?"

"No!" Nick grabbed Harry's hand at that, couldn't not, and Harry looked surprised and then covered it with his other hand. "No, you're brilliant. Of course you are."

Harry looked pleased, under the anguish of the conversation, and he didn't let Nick's hand go, but he didn't let the point drop, either. "I want to be able to say I'm bi or whatever," he said. "I want it to be on my terms, instead of people thinking I'm gay because of the boots I'm wearing or whatever. Okay?"

Nick nodded. "Okay. But it's going to be different when you're famous because people hate you, instead of because people like you. Just think about it, maybe. I'll support you either way, but think about it."

Harry chewed on his lip. "I think more people will like me than hate me," he said. "I have to believe that. It worked for you, didn't it?"

"It's not—I mean, you know it's not the same," Nick said gently. 

Harry nodded.

"And people still say I'm a pedophile even for being friends with you. It's not all Pride parades and hot men in thongs, you know."

"Thongs?" Harry said, with a smirk.

"Just an example." To be fair, Harry in a thong was quite an image. "It's going to be different for you, so think about it. Thank you for, like, telling me, though. Giving me some warning."

"Yeah, of course," Harry said. There was a weight in his voice, like he was saying something other than that, too.

Nick withdrew his hand and took another bite of the ratatouille, because this was something he could have for now, whatever explosion the future held. Harry kicked Nick's feet under the table and settled back, too.

* * *

"Niall, light of my life, little Irish fire in my—you know what, that was a bad start."

"Hi Nick," Niall said, tinny.

"How are you? _Where_ are you?"

"Doin' fine, doin' fine. Here in London till Christmas. We've got album promo, as I'm sure you know."

"Yeah. About that." Nick drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Harry said I could talk to you about his, er, plans." He'd offered it out of the blue a couple of hours after their conversation the night before. Nick thought Harry was right, that he could use another perspective on this.

"Ah, right. Don't worry, we're not going to say you're shagging him."

"Well. Thank you for that, but I'm not worried about it." Although it did answer the question of exactly how much Harry's bandmates knew, not that Nick had thought it was a secret from them. "I just wanted to check, do you think this is a good idea? I tried to say something to him about it, but he wasn't having it."

"Don't worry about him, mate. He's dealt with more shit than any of us." There was background noise, maybe a pub, behind Niall's voice, but he didn't sound distracted.

"Yeah, but...not for this."

"Yes for this," Niall said. "We're in a fucking boyband. Warding off gay rumours, it's like the first thing they trained us to do."

"Right before balancing a beach ball on your nose?"

Niall laughed like a maniac. "I'm gonna try that!"

"Good to know," Nick said. "So you're not worried?"

There was a pause before Niall answered. "Not my place to be worried," he said. "He's a grown lad. He can decide what he wants to do."

"So you _would_ be worried if he was the kind of friend you worried about?"

"Don't borrow trouble. It's what he wants to do. Maybe it'll even work."

Nick smiled despite himself. "That's very encouraging. I'm so glad we had this little chat."

"I mean, he's going to get nailed. He knows he's going to get nailed. He thinks the good that'll come out of it is better. Yeah? And we all agreed, it's his choice to make."

"Okay, fair enough," Nick said.

"Also, since we planned ahead, Louis's taking a long vacation in the Caribbean. The sharks won't be able to get at him till it's blown over." A pause. "Well, maybe real sharks, but not the press."

"Harry should do that too. Different island, though. Mmm, different continent, probably."

"He won't run," Niall said. "Not from this."

"Yeah, I know." Nick sighed into the phone. 

"And he's done the interview already, so—"

"Oh," Nick said. "That makes sense. I didn't think about that."

"Yeah. He's pretty serious about it."

Nick nodded, then realized Niall couldn't see him. "Thanks, Niall. I mean it."

"Course. We've got the boys to talk to. I know you've only got him, and he's a bit stubborn when he wants to be."

"A bit, yeah."

"Grim," Niall said, in a different tone that made Nick sit up and listen. "You know that the press has ruined stuff for him before, right? Like, relationships."

Niall was possibly the only person on the planet less qualified than Nick to give relationship advice, but he knew Harry, so Nick would listen. "Yes, I'd heard. I've been playing the songs for a year and a half."

"Not just Taylor. Lots of things—it's hard."

"With the press? Yeah, I can imagine."

"So, you know. Don't let it get to you, don't let it come between you. We're all of us happy to talk stuff out or, like, create a distraction or something, if you need it."

Nick was glad this conversation wasn't in person, because he was sure he had some sort of inappropriate emotion on his face. "Aw, that's very sweet."

"And we know you'd do the same for us. Mutual, like. If somebody comes after Louis's mum again you might have to snog in public."

"I can do better than snog," Nick said.

"Oh, sex tape!" Niall said. "Killer."

"I don't think we need to jump that far," Nick said. "A tasteful nude?"

"Yeah, like your nudes would be anything other than slutty," Niall said, rather more friendly-like than Nick thought their relationship deserved. "Unless you get Harry to take 'em. Black and white closeups of a single hair."

"I'll ask," he said, to Niall's giggles. "Thanks again."

"Any time, any time. Tell Fincham I said hey."

"I will, thanks," Nick said, then rang off. Okay. Not-really-hidden relationship with a world-famous musician who was about to come out of the closet: check. This was definitely what he'd been planning to do with the holiday season this year, and he wasn't terrified at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Like a time warp, it was 2012 again and Harry was bringing in a tray of coffee for the breakfast crew. Nick had thought they'd successfully broken Harry's Starbucks habit, but maybe he'd just got sneaky about it. Harry let Fiona grab the caramel Frappuccino before Nick could get to it; Nick had to settle for mint. And he wouldn't even get to kiss Harry with his minty-fresh mouth (well, his minty-fresh but mostly coffee-flavoured mouth, so maybe Harry would be grateful), because he hadn't come out yet. One more week till the issue hit the press, a few more days till the public could get hold of it. Nick tried not to count down, but he knew that the return of the Nick-and-Harry show was going to look different once that cover got out. 

Harry also produced a blueberry scone from his bag, so Nick forgave him about the coffee. He didn't _forget_ , though.

They had the cameras on. Harry clung to the outside wall of the studio, grinning at everything. He couldn't reach the microphone cables from where he was, a benefit of the new studio, but he did have a nice view of the monitor showing all the texts coming in. Luckily Nick was immune to humiliation, because some of them were inappropriate commentary on his sartorial choices of the morning: admittedly not his best, since Harry had (rather pleasantly) delayed him getting ready. He'd assumed Harry would fall asleep after he left, as usual, but apparently he was feeling frisky instead. 

Victoria was grinning and making little comments to Nick—not so obvious it would be picked up by the listeners, but Nick knew what she was referring to. So did Harry, if the slowly-broadening grin was any indication. Finchy had been old hat at Harry showing up, but this was Victoria's first time with it, so Nick supposed he should have expected some kind of teasing. He started throwing paper clips at anyone in his field of vision. Hopefully none of the higher-ups were watching the webcam, or he might get a talking-to about wasting office supplies. He should bring in his own paper clips so he could throw them at will. Maybe glittery paper clips. Did they make glittery paper clips? Must do. Or he could send Harry off with some paste and glitter to find small children for a craft project; that was always effective.

Nick faded in the next song and went back to his Frappuccino and scone and Harry. "This is nice," Harry said when they were close enough. "Though sunnier than I remember."

"Yes, there are these things called mornings. I know your glamorous popstar life doesn't let you see them very often."

"Had a pretty good view earlier today," Harry said, very quietly, and licked his lips. Nick smirked, and Harry smirked back. "Not enough light, though, if you wore those two shirts together." He gestured to the plaid which was, admittedly, clashing badly with the T-shirt underneath. 

"I was delayed getting ready," Nick said, equally quietly. The rest of the crew was huddled around Victoria's console for something or other, so they wouldn't be overheard, probably. "Not sure how that happened. Maybe next time I'll have my live-in butler lay out my clothes for me the night before."

"Could do." Harry smacked his gum. "Thought I was your housewife, though."

"Mmm, butler might be nice. You in white gloves, checking for dust."

"Indeed, you are very old and dusty."

"Hey," Nick said halfheartedly. 

Harry broke off a piece of Nick's scone and ate it himself. "Must keep my energy up," he said, when Nick raised an eyebrow.

"I think you're more in need of replacing all the fluids you've lost."

Harry looked unimpressed in Nick's direction.

"Because you've been c—"

"I got it, thank you," Harry said, and grabbed Nick in a headlock. Nick tried to fight him off and failed, and the rest of the crew noticed and just laughed at him. His Frappuccino came very close to spilling and damaging some very expensive equipment, not that that would make Nick obey the no-drinks rule in future. 

"Everyone likes you better than me," Nick said when Harry finally let him go. "Look, they think this is hilarious."

"'m very funny," Harry agreed. "So're you, though."

"Thanks. Now, go away, I'm very busy and important."

"Oh, I've heard that. It's from, uh...."

" _Bridget Jones's Diary_ , you infant," Nick said. 

"Oh right," Harry said. "We should watch that, I didn't know I could drool over Colin Firth last time."

"Ah, hot older men," Nick said, and then paused, his own voice faintly ringing in his ears, though the studio was definitely not echoing.

Harry gave him a smirk slow as molasses, and Nick escaped back to the mic for the next link so he wouldn't have to reply. Fiona accosted Harry, probably about her next vlog, and he was out the door by the time Nick finished, a lingering scent of coffee and cologne the only indication he'd been there at all.

* * *

"You look happy," Pixie said when Nick showed up, white wine in hand. 

"So do you." Nick kissed her on the cheek. "Just the two of us today?"

Pixie nodded and shut the door behind him. "Daisy begged off. So I get to grill you by myself!"

"I thought we were wedding planning. Is this an ambush?" Nick said as he unwound his scarf and hung up his coat. Always a production going anywhere in winter. 

"It's not every day you've got a boyfriend." Pixie grinned as they made their way into the kitchen. "In fact, it's almost no days. Looks good on you!"

Nick couldn't quite suppress his smile. Awful. "Thanks. What's for lunch?"

"Kale and sprout salad, unfortunately. At least it's not a cleanse. Corkscrew's in the second drawer, by the way."

"We still on kale, then?"

"George swears by it."

Nick nodded and started uncorking the wine as Pixie plated up the salads. "How's he doing?"

"Oh, fine. Doing a gig up in Birmingham. He should be back next week, so I thought we'd get some flower options set up for him to look at." She grinned at him. "But you'd know all about long-distance, wouldn't you?"

"Not yet. It's only been since he's been back in London. He's off to Los Angeles just after Christmas, though, that'll be the first long trip." He winked at her. "Then you can give me tips, I know you love to."

Pixie hummed. "Sorry, I figured it was earlier than that, and you just didn't tell us." She motioned to the table.

"No. Actually, I was so certain he was straight he had his hand down me pants before I noticed he was hitting on me." Pixie choked on her wine and Nick smiled at her innocently. "I think we've got it figured out now, though."

"That's a very Grimmy kind of story," Pixie said, and Nick smiled. It didn't _sound_ like an insult, although he supposed it could be. "You didn't know, though? He always looked at you like you invented, I don't know, skinny jeans or something. I just figured it hadn't worked out."

It was strange gossiping about Harry, but Pixie was a life master at keeping gossip where it belonged. "No. But he didn't know either, or he says he didn't."

"So he figured out he liked boys and he came right home to you?" Pixie smiled at him, half mocking, half genuine. "That's very sweet."

"It wasn't _right_ home. In fact it took him like a year. I'm not sure why he didn't tell me before."

"But you agree it's home? Awww." Nick hadn't thought to protest it; Pixie was right about that, at least. And she picked up on it too. "Is he living with you now?"

"He's staying with me, yeah. He sold his house here."

"He's been living with you for a month, then?" 

She looked like she wanted to boop him on the nose or something. It was very distracting. Nick pretended to chase a grape round the plate so he didn't have to watch her. "Yeah, I suppose. Says he's staying till Christmas at least, except for the promo thingies."

"And you're going to have a disgustingly happy holiday together, too, aren't you."

"We haven't discussed it," Nick said. He kept trying to picture Harry in his parents' house as his boyfriend, and every scenario ended up with them getting caught with their trousers round their ankles. The sex was really good and really frequent; Nick kept expecting it to die off, but then they'd brush hands or Harry would accidentally fall on him and next thing Nick knew, orgasms. He hardly ever wanked any more, even. He wasn't complaining, but it was notable for how different it was from his previous flings.

"Nick." Pixie pointed her fork at him. A slice of cucumber was still stuck on the tines. "You know we love you, and in case of divorce we're keeping you and chucking him, but don't sabotage yourself, please."

"So tell me more about how he looks at me," Nick said, desperately switching topics.

"Oh, Lord," Pixie giggled. "Those big green eyes following you all over the room. You didn't notice?"

"Everybody looks at me like that."

She rolled her eyes. "I dunno, 's not like it was any one thing. You're one of his favourite people, is all."

Nick nodded. He did know; he had known. But it felt warming, or something, right down to his very core, to have someone confirm it. 

"He's coming to the wedding, yeah?"

"Should do," Nick said. 

"We probably won't be able to keep the paps out," she said, sighing. "I'd love to see you two dancing. As long as we clear the dance floor first, to prevent injury to bystanders."

"Well, he'll be out by then." Pixie's eyebrows went up. "Dunno if we'll be public, though. You know how I love tweets about my predatory behaviour, but I'm not sure I want quite that much publicity."

"Stop searching yourself on Twitter."

"They reply at me!" Nick said.

"So don't read your replies. Or get somebody to filter them. Don't you have interns at that radio station of yours?" Nick couldn't tell if she was deliberately trying to sound like his nan or not.

"Yes, but I've been strictly prohibited from using them for personal gain."

Pixie hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you can't offer somebody sexual favours to do it for you, since Harry would have them killed."

"Oh, we're not exclusive," Nick said.

"He's not messing you around, is he?" she said, seriously. "You don't have to be in an open relationship if you don't want to."

"No, nothing like that. He's—wonderful, really. We just haven't—"

"Discussed it," she said, mouth twitching towards a smile. "I'm noticing a theme here."

Nick scratched his jaw. "You know, I have been in relationships before—"

"Not like this."

"—but usually I get a little warning so I can, like, psych myself up. It just takes me a bit sometimes, that's all. You don't all need to check up on me." 

"If you're happy, I'm happy," Pixie said, with a shrug.

"Yes, mum."

Pixie grinned. "Eat your vegetables, sonny boy, or no dessert for you," she said in a terrible American accent.

"Oooh, you didn't tell me there was pudding," Nick said. He could get through lettuce for pudding, he could. Or maybe this was rocket. Stupid hipster salads. Although— "And you're the one who forced this on me in the first place, why are you offering pudding to get me to eat it?"

"Do we need to have another conversation about how you don't know what's good for you?"

"Ugh. Fine." Nick took a bite of sprouts and chewed it dutifully, and Pixie grinned at him and stuck a slice of tomato in her mouth.

* * *

When Nick got home, Harry said grandly, "Here is a story about a man with two penises."

Nick leaned over the back of the sofa and looked at the laptop screen. There was a photo. "Yes it is," he said.

"I wonder what it's like having two penises?"

"You could borrow mine, test it out."

Harry scrunched his face up.

"If we asked him, 'Do you dress left or right,' he'd say 'yes.'"

Harry grinned at him again, and also groped him, because he was Harry. "Right today for you, I see," Harry said. "Copping a feel whilst you're working?"

"Not all of us are sex-crazed maniacs," Nick said, heading off to the bedroom to drop the rest of his things. Harry kept smiling as he walked out, as though that had been a compliment. Probably it was; Nick couldn't find anything wrong with Harry these days. Scary, that. But then he hadn't ever found anything wrong with Harry in the past, either. (Things to complain about were a different story: his stupid face and those eyes and those abs and the way he talked really slowly were all frequent items on Nick's list of unfair things about the universe.)

Nick came back out as Harry turned on Bake Off. He sat half on Harry's lap, narrowly missing the laptop, and Harry snorted and wrestled him down into Harry's favourite cuddling position, which was Nick on the sofa like a normal human being and Harry draped across his entire right side, face tucked into Nick's neck and lips resting against his pulse. Nick wasn't sure how Harry could see the telly like that, but he always seemed to follow what was happening, so it must work out all right. Harry's breathing got noticeably slower when they did this, like all the touching was a stress reliever in itself; maybe it was. Nick hadn't woken up once in a panicked sweat since Harry had been back. To be fair, though, he was also a lot more tired than he usually was—their schedules didn't mesh well, and Nick was disciplined enough to get sleep before he worked but not disciplined enough to get _enough_ sleep every night.

His hand was up, carding through Harry's strangely soft thick hair, when the show ended, and he tightened his fingers when Harry went for the remote. "Hey, can I ask you something?" he said quietly.

"Sure," Harry said. He'd moved so his mouth wasn't quite so involved with Nick's throat, but he was still so close Nick couldn't get a look at him.

"D'you want to be exclusive?" Harry went stiff, and Nick went back to playing with his hair. "I haven't, like, with anyone else." That relaxed him. "But I wanted to check if that was all official and stuff."

"Yes, please," Harry said. "If you want to."

"It's all right with me," Nick said. 

Harry licked Nick's neck. "Cool. How do you feel about threesomes, by the way? I like one every once in a while, I think it can be a bonding experience for a couple."

"As long as we're talking about men, why not?" Nick thought about it for a moment, in glorious full-colour images. "I like the idea of spitroasting you."

"Nicholas," Harry whined. "You're so old. We call it an Eiffel Tower now."

Nick tugged at his hair and Harry kissed him, a brief peck. Then he turned the telly to a rerun of Top Gear, the traitor. Nick didn't know why he put up with him at all.

* * *

Harry leaned in the door of the kitchen, where Nick was working at the table. "Wanna fuck me tonight?"

"Sure," Nick said.

"I mean, I like a handie as much as the next man and I think my oral skills are improving, but I'd like to try something different."

"I already said all right," Nick said. "What, do you think this is like a punch card? Ten blowjobs and you can cash in a good bumming?"

Harry frowned. "Ten?"

"Aw, you've been countin'?" Nick said, delighted. "I feel so special."

Harry dimpled at him, but didn't answer.

"Yeah, we can do whatever you want, you don't need to convince me. Go on, get naked, I'll be in in a minute."

Harry wandered off to the bedroom. The getting naked instruction was superfluous, he was sure, especially since Harry was only wearing pants as it was. Nick finished writing an email, cleaned his teeth, and only then went into the bedroom, where a suitably naked Harry was thumbing through something on his phone, condom and a pump bottle of lube next to him on the bed. It wasn't Nick's pump bottle of lube; he wondered where Harry had produced it from. Nick shed his boxers and T-shirt and slid up next to Harry. Harry put his phone down and leaned over Nick, grabbing his glasses by the stems and sliding them off his face before folding them carefully and placing them on the bedside table. "Hello," he said quietly.

"Hi," Nick said. He tugged and Harry came over, straddling Nick's belly, right where Nick could get a firm handful of his arse. "So I heard you had a special request."

"You heard because I told you," Harry said, laughing. "Yes, please."

"Have you done this before?" They hadn't really had the conversation about what Harry had done with other guys—it didn't matter to Nick—but something about the way he'd asked, something about the way he looked right now, all soft and strangely shy, made Nick think this was important to him, and new.

Harry licked his lips. "No. Not as the one getting shagged, anyway."

"Okay. Fingers?" Harry nodded. "Toys?" A shake of the head. "Okay." Nick squeezed Harry's arse and Harry ghosted a smile down at him. "C'mere." Harry bent down and Nick spared a hand to cup the back of his neck as they kissed. Harry squirmed his hips down so they were pressed flat together thighs to chest, dicks nestled against one another. Harry's lips were as full and soft as they always looked—Nick's were getting chapped with the colder weather, but that never seemed to be a problem for Harry, maybe because he licked them so much. 

Nick opened up Harry's mouth with his tongue, and a thready moan wound its way out of Harry's throat. He sucked on Nick's tongue for a moment, then dropped his head to hide his face in the curve where Nick's shoulder met his neck. Nick wasn't sure what to do with a shy Harry. But it didn't last long; he thumbed Nick's nipples and circled his hips, strong abs flexing against the soft bits of Nick's belly. Suddenly tender, Nick grasped Harry's waist and held on as he kissed the nearest bits of shoulder. Harry was so warm, skin smooth and lightly hairy in places, lean and strong and so beautiful it could take Nick's breath away. But he felt—tense, maybe. Uncertain. He did want this, that much was clear, but it meant something to him that Nick couldn't work out. He rubbed Harry's sides, kissed his ear, and sat up to get the lube, letting Harry slide belly-down onto the bed.

He petted Harry's arse for a moment once he'd slicked his fingers up. Harry had propped his head up on his folded forearms, face turned to the side, watching Nick out of the corner of his eye. He wiggled his bum under Nick's hand and smiled. Nick smiled back, not sure how well Harry could see him, and pulled Harry's arsecheek to the side to get a better look at his hole. Tightly furled, bit of hair, nothing out of the ordinary. He rubbed it with his wet fingers and Harry tilted his arse up just a bit to give Nick better access. That was all the invitation he needed: he pressed gently with his middle finger, and slid in, easy, most of the way on the first go. 

"Fuck, your fingers are long," Harry said from the head of the bed as Nick worked on him. 

Nick looked up and was caught, briefly, by his gaze. Harry's mouth was open, spit-slick, like he couldn't remember to close it; Nick pushed his finger in again and he could see the response in Harry's back muscles. Loving it. "More where that came from," Nick said, and Harry laughed. Nick could feel it all up his arm. 

He added another finger and rubbed inside him, searching, until Harry made a soft noise. His hips flexed up briefly. Nick rubbed harder and he could see Harry frowning, frozen, trying to process—too much then. He eased up and fucked his fingers in more, three now, and watched Harry stretch around them. "All right?" he said.

"Yes," Harry said quickly, definitively. He rubbed his head against his forearms and shifted, widening his thighs, opening up. "Feels massive," Harry said. "Can't believe how deep you are."

Nick didn't mind dirty talk, but Harry didn't often go in for it. They usually weren't so distant, though; liked a bit of eye contact with his fucking, did Harry. He'd curl up so he could see Nick's head at his crotch or grab for Nick's nipples when he was the one going down, so they didn't seem so far away from each other. Nick leaned up and rubbed Harry's shoulder. The angle was harder on Nick's wrist, but it was worth it for the way Harry's eyes dropped closed and he quieted. Nick tried not to think about using his hand tomorrow, since it seemed set on permanently cramping into a claw. Well, as long as he could keep fingering Harry with it. He felt nineteen again, going off before he could even get in because just the thought of that tight slick hot flesh was too much. Hopefully this would end differently, though, like with Nick actually fucking the guy he was with, instead of trying an apology blowjob with his still-horrible oral skills. 

"Hngh." Harry's throat clicked as he swallowed. "Get in me."

Nick laughed. "Not quite yet, love." 

Harry whimpered and started pressing back against Nick's hand. Nick gave it another minute or so, then slipped his fingers out and grabbed the condom from the pillow. He almost had to put it on left-handed, his right still shaky from the awkward fingering, but he managed it. The way Harry was humping the bed didn't help his concentration any, though. He slicked up his cock and laid down next to Harry, then tugged on his hip so he rolled up, back-to-front with Nick. 

Nick got a hand round the base of Harry's prick and pressed in slowly. Harry parted around him, blood-warm and clinging, and shivered when Nick slid a few inches deep all at once. Nick worked his way in till his hips were pressed to Harry's arse. 

"Fuck," Harry said, clearly enunciated, even slower and deeper than usual. Nick wholeheartedly agreed. Ordinary—how could he have thought ordinary, when it was Harry clenching around him, Harry twisting and sweating on the bed, Harry making those little noises like he didn't even know how to handle how good he felt.

He set up a steady rhythm, fucking in, tugging on Harry's dick at the same pace. Harry's back was pressed to Nick's chest, and Nick's face was tucked into his neck, where he could see the stubble coming in, hours after Harry had shaved. Nick was weirding himself out with how weirded out he was by this. Like, first time doing anal, and he was getting feelings all over everything. What a cliche. But it was—just Harry, keeping up a constant stream of syllables, half of them Nick's name. How could he not...feel this. He kissed along Harry's shoulder blades, remembering suddenly that kiss weeks before, in his bed, minutes before Harry grabbed his dick and started this whole thing. Was it a bit of fun for Harry, then, before it turned into this? Was it a bit of fun for Nick now? He didn't think so, not any more. He hadn't thought so for a while, if he was honest.

He wanted to get off and then he wanted to curl up and kiss Harry forever, make him smile that happy little dimpled smile like he didn't have a care in the world, touch his collarbones and his nipples and his hairline where he was balding and the cut of his hips and his weirdly hairless knees and how had he turned into this person? When had that happened?

Harry found his rhythm then, thank God, and started grinding back in time with Nick's thrusts. Nick mouthed along the side of his neck and swiped his thumb over the head of Harry's cock, feeling like he did when he found a particularly good segue for a dance floor: everything lining up, no break in the movement or the feeling of the people in the crowd, but new, better. Harry's mouth hung open, like he couldn't be arsed to close it. Nick was getting used to the way Harry wanted everything so much, hard and ready for anything, but this was another level entirely.

"Harder, please," Harry said, voice rough.

How could Nick refuse such a polite request? But he couldn't go harder, not from the angle he had, so he rolled and Harry rolled with him, till he was pressed between Nick and the mattress, pushing his arse up greedily. Nick knocked his knees further apart. He set up a steady pace, not as fast as he could go, but deep, bottoming out on every thrust. "Oh _shit_ ," Harry said beneath him, sounding drugged with it. He pounded a fist into the pillow once, twice, and grabbed his cock with the other hand.

It was a race to the finish line, then, the thump of the mattress against the wall and Harry's tense breaths below him, Nick feeling his approaching orgasm like a runaway train. He finished before Harry did, pressed tight in and nearly fell over, and Harry swore where his face was mashed into the pillow and came before Nick had a chance to go soft.

Nick gave up and collapsed on top of Harry. Harry grunted and waved his arm. Nick took the hint and rolled to the side, and Harry grunted again when Nick fell out of him. Ugh, gross. Nick pulled off the condom, tied it off, and tossed it in his empty teacup on the bedside table; the bin was too far for his aim. Harry slid over, half on top of Nick, like they'd started except Nick was flat on his back instead of propped up, and also his legs were fucking tingling.

"Good?" he said, brushing Harry's hair away from his face.

"Stop fishing for compliments," Harry said into Nick's nipple. 

Nick smiled and messed up Harry's hair. Harry smiled back in that half-asleep, dopey way he did when felt too good to notice what his face was doing. "That what you wanted, though?" Nick asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. He rubbed his face against Nick's chest. "Thank you. I know that was, like, a lot."

"No, it was good," Nick said. 

"I should just keep you in bed all day and pamper you rotten so we can do that whenever we want."

Nick hummed. "That's a tempting offer. I've always wanted to be Mrs. Harry Styles. But my poor decrepit body would never survive that much sex."

"Aww." Harry grinned at him, reviving, and came up for a kiss that turned into something longer, a nice little makeout session whilst Nick was loose and sated. They were both half-asleep by the time Nick remembered somebody had better be getting a flannel or three; he supposed he ought to, this time. Couldn't have Harry doing all the work.

* * *

Dating Harry came with some side...Nick wouldn't call them benefits. Side effects, maybe. One of them was having to go out to terrible clubs and sit around in the VIP section with a very popular boy band (and their entire entourage and a whole posse of friends), in order for them to silently judge him and decide if he was good enough for their bandmate. Or to celebrate something about the album, but Nick thought that was just pretext for the judging.

Nick wouldn't have said it before he experienced it, but Liam Payne could be terrifying. He was sitting where he could keep an eye on Nick, and he kept flexing his biceps. Unless they looked like that all the time? He wasn't huge, nobody in the band was, but his muscles were...noticeable. And Nick could vaguely remember that he boxed. Niall was safer, since he'd given Nick some good advice and all, so Nick sat down next to him and said, a little desperately, "Am I on trial?"

"Naw, mate," Niall said, which was reassuring, "everybody's already made up their minds," which was _not_.

"It's lucky I'm so charming," Nick said. Niall gave him something of an evil eye and muttered what sounded like, "That's the problem," under his breath, but his eyes were sparkling, so Nick thought it was a joke. Probably. 

"Does Liam want to kill me?"

"No?" Niall said. "We're all happy for you."

"He's been glaring at me all night."

Niall laughed. "Is this what you have to put up with all the time?" he said to the spot over Nick's shoulder, where, a moment later, Harry's head appeared, chin digging in.

"You have no idea," Harry said. "Nick, stop being scared of Liam. He's very nice."

"He was very nice before I started dating you," Nick said. "Now he looks like you're his teenage daughter and I knocked you up."

"Well, you haven't," Harry said, and then, looking at Niall, "not that you haven't tried." Niall threw his head back and laughed. Nick didn't pretend to understand them. 

"Okay. Is there a reason Liam's glaring at me, then?"

"I told you," Niall said, "he's not glaring. That's what he looks like when he's thinking."

"Well, I wish he'd stop thinking in my direction."

"But Grimmy," Harry said sweetly, "he can only think in _one direction_." 

Niall laughed loudly again. Harry was being pulled away by somebody, which was just as well, as otherwise he might have seen Nick's smile, and it wouldn't do to encourage him.

Zayn came up and leaned on the back of Niall's chair. He was, maybe, harder to navigate than Niall, and not just because he wasn't part of the band any more and might not be up on the latest gossip. Harry's friendships with his bandmates waxed and waned; like everyone they all had different favourite people at different times, and Nick knew he'd never understand what it was like for them, to get along that well but then to have "getting along well" as a job description, through the kind of intense amount of togetherness that would make anybody get irritated even with their closest friends. Harry didn't talk about Zayn like he talked about the others—never had, even before Zayn left the band, and even when Zayn was the one he was getting along with best—so Nick had no reference frame for how he was supposed to deal with Zayn in his official-boyfriend capacity. 

"Pezza's going for a round of tequila shots, if you want one," Zayn said.

Nick shook his head, and Niall said, "Just the lager for me tonight." 

"Y'heard Adele's new album yet?" Zayn said to Nick. 

"No, not yet. Have you?" 

Zayn smiled. 

"Ah! How'd you pull that off?" 

Zayn smiled more broadly.

"It's pretty sick," Niall said.

"Oh, you too?" Nick said. "And you didn't tell me? I thought we were bonding, Niall."

"If it's you or Adele, I pick Adele."

"I pick tequila," Zayn said. He drummed his hands on the back of Niall's chair and stood up. "Glad you two worked it out," he said, seriously, to Nick.

"Thanks," Nick said.

Zayn smiled at him and walked off.

"That wasn't too bad," Nick said to Niall, just as he heard Louis yell, "Don't fuck it up, Grimshaw!" from across the room. Nick was surprised by his restraint, if he was honest.

"Seriously, mate, you don't have to impress us," Niall said. "We're not the gatekeepers to Harry's virtue."

"You'd be falling down on the job if you were," Nick said, and Niall laughed at him again, bright and open. 

"You want another?" Niall said, nodding at the drink in Nick's hand.

"Good for now, I think."

"Cheers," Niall said. He stood up and Harry appeared to take his vacated seat.

"Did you order that to match your outfit?"

Nick looked down; his drink was green, and so was his scarf. "Nope," he said. "Just a happy coincidence. And, look, I match your eyes."

"Shut up," Harry said, grinning. "I'm going to start wearing brown shirts now. Or I could make you dye your hair to match me. I liked the pink before."

"Quiet, you, nobody liked the pink," Nick said.

"Or we could, like, get matching green and brown plaid shirts," Harry said, like Nick hadn't interrupted him. "So we'd match ourselves _and_ each other."

"Maybe nobody'd be able to tell us apart," Nick said. "I could go out on stage, sing your solos—"

With a half smile, Harry said, "Ah, I see. This is all your creepy doppelganger fantasy where you're a singer."

"Yes, the sex is incidental," Nick said. "And, apparently, narcissistic."

"I'm going to kiss you," Harry said, "and then I'm going to wander around and kiss four other people to hide our tracks, so prepare yourself."

"I'm fully prepared," Nick said, even though, for Harry, he never was.

* * *

After an afternoon filming Sweat the Small Stuff, Nick lingered at the studio door, waiting for Harry to pick him up. He'd been specially instructed to wear something nice, so he'd chosen a pressed-smooth blue-grey shirt that hopefully wouldn't wrinkle in the car. There was a dash of pattern, stripes lining the cuffs and collar, but overall it was sombre and adult-looking, scary in its implications. The slacks were better than his usual ripped jeans, too, although knowing Harry the easy-access gaps would have been a mark in his favour. He fluffed up his quiff as he waited for Harry to text that he'd arrived. He could remember women he knew talking about their cool boyfriends picking them up from university—Nick had never had that; he liked them younger than him, mostly, he knew himself well enough to know that. But there was something powerful about it, waiting here for Harry to pick him up like some romantic hero.

His phone pinged eventually, and Nick slipped out the entrance of the studio and into Harry's car, thankful to be in Hertfordshire instead of London proper. Harry leaned over to open the door for him as he got closer, and then handed Nick, of all things, a small bouquet of yellow carnations and unknown white flowers before he started driving.

"What's all this, then?" Nick said. They smelt good. Must be the white flowers, whatever they were; he didn't think carnations had a scent.

"We're having a romantic evening," Harry said. "I brought you flowers."

"Thanks." Nick inhaled again; he was reminded of the soap at his nan's, but not in a bad way. "I didn't bring you anything."

"Of course not, it was a surprise."

"Where are we going, then?"

"Nick," Harry said, chiding. "It's a _surprise_."

Nick made an acknowledging noise and looked out the window, trying to figure out where they were heading. From the direction they were traveling he could say...London. Really narrowed it down. In the silence, he realized they were listening to Stevie Wonder. Something about it was familiar; he flipped back through his memory, trying to figure out why this song reminded him of something, and then the track switched to the Temptations and he had it. "Is this that sex playlist I helped you make when you were trying to woo that gymnast?"

Harry bit his lip. "Uh," he said. "Romance. Not sex."

"But it is that playlist."

After a pause, he said, "I forgot you helped me."

"You _forgot_." Nick laughed out loud. He could feel his nose doing the scrunchy thing, and he hated that, but on the other hand Harry wasn't looking at him (and he'd better keep his eyes on the road—at least he wasn't so bad on the motorway). "It's a good thing I'm so memorable. You _forgot_ I helped you make a sex playlist!"

"Romance," Harry said. The corners of his mouth were twitching.

"Oh my God. I made you demonstrate like half your moves on me—"

"That was nowhere near half," Harry said.

"—and then, and then we called Daisy over and tried it out on her, and you didn't even _remember_?"

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly. He was silent for a moment. "That was great, wasn't it? I'd totally forgot. But like—we used to do shit like that all the time. Didn't seem weird then."

Nick nodded. "Is it weird now?"

"I dunno. It's like—maybe I was into you then and just didn't notice. Were you into me?"

"I always thought you were sexy," Nick said, which made Harry throw a model pout his way and then giggle. "I thought about that, I guess. But not like this. You were a good friend, and then sometimes I wanted to come on your face, but there wasn't, like, romance or summat."

"You still haven't come on my face," Harry said.

"Well, love, you swallow."

"You should come on my face."

"I think that would distract you from driving, don't you?"

Harry huffed. "Later."

"Maybe I don't put out on the first date. Are you calling me a slag?"

"You put out _before_ the first date, so I guess so." Harry grinned at him.

"Eyes on the road, please," Nick said. 

Harry grinned more broadly and returned his attention where it belonged.

As they drove, Nick got more and more certain that they were heading for Primrose Hill; not a bad place to go, of course, but it did bring up the question of why Harry had been so ceremonious about picking him up, when they could have left from home. That question got even more pressing when Harry made a wild left and then pulled up into his usual spot behind Nick's building.

"I think I've been here before," Nick said, unbuckling his seat belt.

"Stay there, I'm opening the door for you." Harry jumped out of the car and ran around to the other side, then opened the door and ushered Nick out.

"Seriously, this looks so familiar..."

Harry took Nick's hand. "Shut up and let me romance you," he said, leading them into Nick's flat. It was dark, and Harry flipped on the lights and kissed Nick sweetly right there in the hall before taking his coat and the bouquet. "Go over to the garden doors. I'll be there in a minute."

That was a strange instruction. But not so strange when Nick saw the small table set up there, two chairs, white tablecloth, Nick's silverware, wineglasses, lots of candles. A door opened elsewhere in the flat and Pig came bounding out to say hello, running around Nick's legs as he bent down to pet her and laugh. Her tail was wagging, but he didn't let her jump up to kiss his face—nice shirt, after all. 

Harry came through with two laden plates and set them on the table. He smiled at Nick and Pig, disappeared again, and returned with a bottle of wine, the flowers in a vase, and a book of matches; he put down the flowers, lit the candles, poured the wine, and then gestured for Nick to sit down. 

The plates were salad. Nick munched on a few forkfuls thoughtfully. "Not bad," he said.

"Thank you," Harry said. Nick hadn't got a good look at him in the car, but he was wearing a white shirt and black sport jacket, thick watch and his usual array of rings. He looked good, but then he always looked good.

"Is there a reason you picked me up instead of just surprising me when I got home?"

"I wanted to do it right," Harry said. He smiled gently. "It was nice, though, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Nick said. "Despite your terrible driving." 

Harry rolled his eyes and put a huge forkful of lettuce in his mouth.

The salad had tiny tomatoes in. Nick wasn't sure when tiny tomatoes became a thing people ate, but it always bothered him, like somebody had developed a working shrink ray. He threw one to Pig and watched her run down the hall for it. "So this is romance, is it?"

Harry swallowed and then smiled, goofy in that way he did sometimes. "Well, generally, it doesn't involve playing fetch with your dog using the meal I cooked for you, but—"

"Pig is a very important part of this relationship," Nick said. "Shouldn't she be included?"

"As long as you don't insist we take her along when we go out."

When. That was a scary thought, too. But Harry was grinning at him, and Nick loved that grin. Lately he was doing increasingly stupid things just to see it. But he didn't think he could be blamed, what with the way Harry tucked his face into Nick's neck when they were watching telly and let his lips rest on Nick's pulse, or brought Nick breakfast in bed at the weekend, or said nice things when Nick was having a bad day. Or turned up at his place of work with ridiculous DIY date ideas. 

He took a sip of wine to cover this crisis, and—"Bloody hell, that's amazing."

"I'm glad you like it. And you'd still describe the salad as...not bad?"

"Yep," Nick said, smirking at him.

Harry huffed and ate a cucumber slice.

Nick leaned over the table for a kiss. He had to stand up, but it was worth it for Harry's soft lips and the way his eyes closed like he was overwhelmed with something this simple. "Thanks," Nick said when they parted. "This is lovely."

"And we're only on the salad course," Harry said. Of course it was a multi-course meal. "Wait for mains."

"I dunno if I can. Maybe we should skip the salad."

Harry clucked at him. "You need your vitamins. I must feed you up so you're nice and healthy when I'm on tour."

Yeah. He was in so much trouble.

* * *

Harry was out doing something album-related when Henry stopped by with a DVD and some chips fresh from the shop down the road, so he and Nick settled on the sofa to watch. It was usual telly watching with Henry, which involved pausing every ten minutes to tell a story or rant about something on screen—that was fine, everything they watched together deserved some level of mocking. They polished off the chips pretty quickly, vinegar sharp in Nick's mouth, and then started in on the vodka in Nick's freezer. Harry texted an hour in to ask if Nick wanted to join them for a beer, but Nick didn't want to kick Henry out. Plus, vodka.

Around eleven, Harry and Henry passed in the entryway, Henry leaving tipsy and Harry coming back the same. Harry smiled briefly at Henry and Henry didn't appear to notice anything was wrong, but Nick did right away: that was Harry's PR smile, the thing he did when the last thing he actually wanted to do was smile.

"Everything okay?" Nick said as soon as he'd shooed Henry out the door. Harry was facing away, dumping the contents of his pockets onto the table, and Nick tried to wrap his arms around Harry's shoulders, but Harry shrugged him off. Nick stepped back, shocked—he didn't think Harry had ever refused a cuddle from him. "Hazza?"

"I thought you were going to come out with me tonight," he said, quietly.

Nick frowned. "Hens was here by the time you texted. Did we have plans I forgot about?"

"No, but when I asked, I thought you'd come. You hardly ever come out with us." He still hadn't turned around. 

It was killing Nick not to be able to see his face; he was sure if he could just get a look at Harry's expression he could understand what was going on. Harry didn't usually act like this, cold and uncommunicative. "Well, I couldn't kick him out." 

"You could have said that," Harry said. "I thought you just didn't want to come out with me. I didn't know he was here."

"Well, I didn't know I needed a reason." Nick could hear annoyance creeping into his voice and tried to push it down. "If you really want me to come out, you should say that. I thought it was just a friendly invitation, in case I didn't have anything else to do."

Harry shoved his hair off his face and turned to Nick. He looked terrible, sad and tired, and Nick had been wrong: he didn't understand at all. "It was a long day, and I was looking forward to seeing you. I thought you'd feel the same."

It would have helped to know that, but probably Nick should wait to mention that fact till Harry didn't look quite so upset. Getting that look off his face was the number one priority at the moment. "I'm sorry, I'll come out next time." 

"Next time you can't." Harry frowned at Nick again, then turned to go into the living room. "The article, remember?" he said, quietly, over his shoulder. 

That fucking article. Nick had known it was a bad idea. He'd just thought the explosion would wait until the thing was actually published. 

Harry settled in one of the armchairs, which was like a blow to Nick's stomach: if he'd wanted Nick all day and didn't even want to cuddle now, Nick wasn't sure what to think.

"We go out all the time," Nick said, instead of any of the panicked things he wanted to scream. He dropped onto the sofa, just in case Harry changed his mind. "No one will care."

"I can go out with _your_ friends because I always go out with your friends. But you never come out with mine."

" _My_ friends like you better than they like me." 

He was trying for a joke, but the message got lost in transit. "I wish you wouldn't do that," Harry said, with almost exaggerated sadness.

"Do what?"

Harry sighed and pushed his toes into the carpet. "Put yourself down. I'm not going to leave you and find someone better, because there _is_ nobody better for me."

It was _one time_ , Nick thought. He never should have brought it up. "When I said I wanted to be friends if we broke up, it was, you know, just in case. I didn't mean I thought it was about to happen."

"No, not just that. You do it all the time and you don't notice. It sucks."

"Sorry," Nick said, reflexively. 

"Anyway." Harry was still staring at his hands and not looking at Nick at all. "You keep saying stuff like that as though _I_ 'm the one who's likely to break up with _you_."

Nick actually couldn't breathe for a minute. "What? Of course I'm not going to—"

"It's okay if you want to," Harry said, so quietly Nick could barely hear him. "You're not obligated to keep, like, being in a relationship with me."

"Harry. I don't want to break up with you." Nick picked at a loose thread on the arm of the sofa. He couldn't tell if Harry was really unsure about how Nick felt about him, or if he was trying to guilt Nick into apologizing for...what, not coming out with him for one night? Nick just didn't understand. "I'm not the one who's always leaving, anyway," he said. "Have you decided how long you're going to be in L.A. next time you go? You've got this glamorous life surrounded by people who are cooler and better-looking than me, you know. You're the one with options."

After a pause, Harry said, "That's not fair."

If Harry didn't look so defeated, Nick had a feeling he wouldn't be as calm as he was. But he couldn't really blow up at Harry when it seemed like Harry would just curl up and take it. Later, maybe. He settled on, "You've not been particularly fair so far this evening, love."

Harry sighed again. "I just—I have all these feelings for you, but I don't think you feel the same about me. I mean..." He trailed off. "It seems like love is off the table for you."

Nick didn't think it was love yet, no, but it wasn't like Harry was just a friend to him—it was more like love than Nick had ever had before, for sure. Did Harry really not know? Had Nick been doing the thing he was worried about all along, leading Harry on because he was greedy for any attention, without reciprocating the kinds of feelings Harry already had? Or was he just looking for reassurance, and didn't know how to ask for it? "No?" Nick said, after what was probably too long a pause.

"Is that a question."

"No. It's not off the table." Nick picked at the thread again. "I, um. I haven't picked it up off the table yet but it's still, like, lying there—this is a shit metaphor, I'm sorry." 

Harry snickered almost inaudibly, and the relief was so intense Nick was almost staggered with it. 

Nick looked down at his hands. "Is it the end, if you get there before me?" He didn't ask if Harry was already there. He had an inkling, now, what the answer to that question would be.

"I dunno, how long is it going to take you?"

"I dunno," Nick said.

Harry didn't say anything.

"I'll—I'll try. Harry." Nick swallowed; he had good control of his voice from so many years using it for a living, but when he said Harry's name he couldn't hide anything at all. "I'll try. Please don't leave."

After an extended pause, Harry said, "Okay. Thanks. Anyway, I can't leave. All my stuff is here."

Nick laughed, longer and louder than that deserved. "You could buy more of it. Or I'd send it to you, get some closet space back."

Harry breathed out, almost a laugh too, then tipped his head back against the armchair and closed his eyes. "I'm going to come hug it out with you later, but I can't right now."

"Okay," Nick said. His voice had gone all soft and affectionate again without his permission. He felt unsure of his ground now, though he was certain more than ever that this relationship was a bad idea, but it didn't change how he wanted nothing more than to wrap Harry up and kiss him stupid until they both felt better. "Wake me up if you have to, I need to get some sleep."

"Okay," Harry said. His eyes were still closed when Nick left the room.

* * *

Harry slid into bed late that night. Nick was still awake; it felt like it wasn't done until he and Harry were together again. He'd thought he could fall asleep and wake up when Harry came in. Instead, he'd been tossing and turning, not awake but definitely not asleep, feeling it hurt over and over like it had when Harry had said, "You're not obligated to keep being in a relationship with me," as if Nick would be a functioning human being if Harry left.

But Harry was here now, in their bed, facing Nick. "Hey," he said quietly. Nick hadn't tried to hide that he was up.

"Hi." Nick's voice was a sleepy mumble still, though he felt more awake than he had for the last half hour or so.

"So, that was our first big fight," Harry said. After a moment, he added, "That was a fight, right?"

"Yeah." Nick rolled onto his back. "But...crisps. Remember?"

Harry laughed, barely a puff of air. "Okay, our first big fight post-shagging."

"Let's not do that again," Nick said. "It's awful. I'm all, like, achy."

Harry scooted closer and put his hand on Nick's waist under the blankets. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

For a few moments, Nick listened to them breathe. Not quite in concert, but close.

"There's more stuff we should talk about in the morning," Nick said. Yell about, really, Nick meant. Like proper communication and expectations and things. But they could do that when Harry didn't look like he'd break if Nick raised his voice.

"Yeah. Not now, though."

"Yeah." 

Breath. Breath. Breath.

Harry pulled himself closer and kissed Nick. It was astonishing how fast just the taste of his mouth could make Nick feel better, the shards of the painful words pulled out of his body by the familiarity and comfort of the kiss. He put a hand on Harry's cheek and Harry pulled back right away. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," Nick said, and reeled him back in.

Harry always made these little pleased noises when he was leading a kiss, unconnected to exactly what they were doing as far as Nick could tell. Something would make Harry feel good and he would vocalize. That didn't stop Nick from trying to figure out what would do it: maybe a nip here (no), a lick along the back of his teeth (yes), a slow brush of tongues (yes) and again (no). Still so much to learn, even though it felt like they'd been doing this forever. Nick hadn't realized, maybe, how deep something like this could go, that he could know so much about Harry and feel like it would never be enough, never be a complete picture. How much he'd want to keep trying to fill in the details.

Harry pulled away and started kissing down Nick's chest. "Can I?" he said, still hesitant. 

Nick nodded. "Always," he said. 

It arrested Harry for a minute, leaving him slowly blinking halfway down Nick's torso, but he crawled the rest of the way down and pulled the waistband of Nick's pants down his thighs. Nick wasn't really free like this, but he could dig his hands into Harry's hair the way Harry liked it, thick and soft between Nick's fingers. Harry leant down and sucked the head of Nick's cock into his mouth. He didn't push down any more, just played around with his tongue until Nick held his hair and pushed up with his hips, trying to get further in. Harry pulled back instead, threw his arm across Nick's lower belly and pinned him and—oh, that was just as sexy as Nick had thought it would be.

Nick pushed up against Harry's arm, gently, and didn't move at all. He maybe should have felt trapped, but it just felt safe. Harry slowly mouthed around, in the right general area but not where Nick wanted it. He tugged on Harry's hair and got a good slow lick in answer. He tried to press up into Harry's mouth, and was reminded again that he couldn't—that was _so_ hot, why was that so hot?

Licking his lips, Harry moved away from Nick's cock. Nick tried to tug him back down with the hands in his hair. "My pace this time," Harry said, raising his eyebrows until Nick nodded, and then he went back and pulled Nick into his mouth again. He'd not yet managed to get Nick all the way inside and Nick kept telling him it was fine, it didn't matter, but Harry kept trying nonetheless. "That's good, love," he said. He didn't think about the endearment until it was out of his mouth, but he couldn't change it now, and with the way Harry's eyelashes fluttered, he didn't want to.

Harry sucked harder and opened up more. He wouldn't get there tonight either, but Nick liked that he wanted to try. Maybe it meant something to him, to try it now.

He'd got good at this, and that was hot too: trained up just how Nick wanted him. Nick wasn't supposed to like that. Normally he was very fond of Harry's sex drive, since it was something they had in common, that desire to be with lots of different people, not because people were disposable but more like the opposite of that, because there were so many interesting good-looking people around. But something about that idea—that Harry had learned this for him, practiced on him; because it was something that mattered to him to be good at, because he liked it? It nearly melted Nick's brain. And it didn't matter, really, that Nick was still wounded by the fight: he wanted Harry just as much as always. 

Nick was on the edge in a short enough time that it was insulting to his stamina, or maybe it was complimentary to Harry's whole...whatever. Harry leaned with all his weight onto Nick's hips and he couldn't thrust up, so his legs did—something and his shoulders lifted right off the bed as he spilled into Harry's mouth. He'd barely finished when Harry came climbing back up his body, jerking off over Nick's belly. Nick reached up and gave him a hand as much as possible, whilst Harry rubbed his lips against Nick's neck, feeling Nick's pulse or maybe the way they were swollen from the blow job. He came on Nick's belly and then flopped onto his back next to Nick. It wasn't his usual post-coital cuddle, but at least they were still touching, shoulders pressed together and fingers not quite tangling where they lay close together on the bed.

Harry sighed, and it sounded something like relief.

It wasn't fixed. Neither of them, Nick was sure, thought it was fixed. But it was nice to remember what they were fixing it for.

* * *

Nick trusted his team, with reason: when he got into work, an advance copy of Vanity Fair was in pride of place at Nick's desk. As he picked it up, Victoria asked, "Did you know about that?" 

"Yeah," Nick said, only half paying attention. The photo on the cover was good, Harry's shirt buttons done up more than he usually wanted but otherwise his ordinary style: neither trying to look gayer nor trying to look less gay. Nick was relieved; he'd been picturing a sombre suit, Harry's hair pulled back into that weirdly manly bun that set off his cheekbones (weirdly manly from the front, at least). But no, it was just his usual Harry, with the headline, "Harry Styles: No More Running," which seemed weird. Maybe a reference to "Ready to Run"? 

"We couldn't get a warning?" Victoria continued.

"I dunno, is this news?"

Victoria rolled his eyes hard, and Nick flashed her a toothy grin: _don't test me_. He opened the magazine, by chance to somewhere in the middle of the article, opposite a full-page photo of Harry looking through clothing with the wardrobe team, plausibly either behind-the-scenes or staged.

> Boy is Gay", a parody of the Backstreet Boys single "I Want It That Way" recorded by a radio team in Portland.
> 
> Even given the history, the rumors about One Direction have an unusually virulent tone. A segment of their fan base has long been convinced that Styles and fellow band member Louis Tomlinson, 23, are in a secret gay relationship. Some have threatened the boys' girlfriends or hacked family social media accounts. In the face of the attention, Styles and Tomlinson chose to cut down interactions in public, positioning other band members as physical and conversational buffers. "We're still very close," he says, "just like I'm close with all the boys, but we don't talk much in public, because of the reaction." Does he have any messages for those fans? "They think our team won't allow us to come out," he says, leaning forward earnestly. "They think they're showing their support. I appreciate that they're trying to help. But that's not the right way to do it."
> 
> Compared to the boy bands and girl bands of yesteryear, One Direction is practically anarchic, with band members flat-out refusing the dance numbers and heavily coordinated outfits that their counterparts use to craft an identity. But image management is still a primary factor in every decision the band members make. When I ask if Styles's team pressured him to delay this announcement—if the fans who cry interference have a point—Styles looks nearly offended, the first break in his generally pleasant and helpful expression. "Everyone who works with us has been very supportive," he says. "I chose to wait for the end of the tour, because I knew our fans would have lots of questions for me, and it's hard to give that my full attention when we're playing a show every night. I made the decision as soon as I knew, and the boys and the label and everyone said to do it." 
> 
> I'm struck by the phrase "as soon as I knew". I ask Styles about it and he pauses thoughtfully before answering. "I've said before that I wasn't bisexual," he says. (The quote appeared in that same infamous _GQ_ article.) "And I didn't think I was, at the time. But I didn't understand what it meant. I thought you had to want men and women all the time, at the same time, and since I didn't and I knew I liked women, I thought I must be straight." What changed his mind? Styles smiles his famous smile. "I kissed a boy and I liked it." And now he identifies as bisexual? "I'm not straight," he says. "I don't really know what label fits me right now. But I do know that I like men as well as women, and that I can be bisexual, or whatever, even if I'm with someone."
> 
> So why is he telling the world if he's not even sure yet what label he'd like to use? "I didn't want it to be a big deal if I showed up somewhere on a date with a man," Styles says. That seems like a hopeless desire: showing up anywhere is a big deal if you're a member of One

"We'll only take regulars for callers today," Fiona said suddenly from his left.

Nick looked up and blinked, back in the real world. "Thanks," he said. 

"Tell him we love him," she said, with a long look that Nick interpreted as, "The tabloids are already eating him alive."

_everyone supportive, sending their love xxxxxx_ Nick texted to Harry, then settled in for a long show.

The morning wasn't terrible—Tina covered Harry at every news break, and the texts and tweets were insane, but Nick got away with one congratulatory message after the 9:05 news break (carefully worked on during previous breaks) and no nutty callers. A fair number of the texts and tweets implied Nick and Harry were shagging, and/or that Nick had recruited Harry, but that was more or less a normal Thursday. The production meeting after the show was interminable, though; all Nick wanted to do was get home and make sure Harry was all right. 

It didn't occur to him until the drive home that the paps might have staked out his house. There were a few, but not many, so they hadn't figured out Harry was staying there. Nick waved cheerfully and went inside, not letting the smile slip till the door was closed and he could see Harry in a nest of blankets on the sofa.

"Hey, Hazza," Nick said. His voice had gone all funny, soft and soothing, like he was trying not to spook Harry; in fact it was probably the spookiest thing he could have done, and by Harry's wince he felt it too. "How are you doing?"

Harry shook his head. His eyes were red and he looked crushed. Nick curled himself up around Harry as best he could without disturbing the blankets. He hunched down until they were eye level with each other; Harry didn't look at him, staring at the table instead.

"Everybody in the press is an idiot. Don't listen to 'em."

"I don't," Harry said. He didn't sound too terrible, so he couldn't have been crying much. "But couldn't _somebody_ say something nice? Just one of them?"

"Hey," Nick said. "I said nice things. I'm media."

Harry rolled his eyes, an encouraging sign. "You're not objective, though."

"I'm very objective! Bisexual Harry Styles is wonderful. That's the entire world that gets to dream about sleeping with you."

Harry laughed. "I think the straight men and lesbians might—"

"Oh, you're definitely hot enough for them anyway, don't worry."

Harry laughed again. Nick loved the sound of his laugh, especially when he was the one who made it happen.

"Look, the ones who like you will say something later, okay? They don't think it's a big deal, so they're not on it right away."

"Okay," Harry said.

Nick squeezed his shoulders. "And we could go look on Tumblr, but it's just going to be that papped photo of you and me kissin' last week."

"Don't get full of yourself, half of it was me kissing Antonio instead."

"Ah, my little slag," Nick said, and kissed Harry's ear.

Harry tipped his head back against the cushions. "Did you see the article?" he said.

"Yeah. Lovely." Nick threw a leg over Harry's lap; eventually he'd climb in, he thought, but he was working up to it. "It said you hadn't picked a label yet."

"I did that interview a couple of months ago. And some of that was PR, they thought it was less frightening if I didn't give it a definite label."

"Kay." Nick paused. "What do the boys say?" He was really asking, _what did Louis say,_ but he thought Harry would figure that out. It had always hit Louis harder than Harry.

Harry swallowed. "Niall and Liam sent their love. Zayn too. I texted Louis to warn him and he said it was fine, but..." He didn't finish the sentence.

"If all this stuff didn't make him hate you before now, he's not going to start."

"Yeah, it's just shit." Harry rolled his head to the side to look at Nick again. "It's not that scary, people knowing. I thought it would be scary."

"I'm glad it's not," Nick said.

Harry nodded to himself and reached for his mobile; Nick pulled it from his fingers and threw it on the table. "No," he said. "You've looked enough for today. We're going to watch some DVDs and ignore the outside world, except when we make fun of the paps for sitting outside your old house."

"They're outside my house?" Harry said.

"Well, they're not here," Nick said. "So I guess you kept me out of it after all. Thanks."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Good." He relaxed at that.

The Queer As Folk set was on top of the DVD rack. He'd been meaning to show it to Harry: the show had been important to him, set in Manchester with Nick almost Nathan's age, just after he'd realized he was really and truly gay. Though at fifteen he hadn't had the face or the confidence that would let him go to Canal Street and pick up a hot older boyfriend to deflower him. He could remember heading to Jane's to watch them so his parents wouldn't find out, not that they didn't already know, and the furious and furtive masturbation sessions they'd inspired. He'd waited a bit too long, though, he thought; probably best to wait on it. No, he needed something mindless. Action-y. Why didn't Nick watch more action movies? There, recent Bond film, gag gift from somebody or other that he hadn't bothered to get rid of. He popped it in and crawled into Harry's blanket nest to cuddle, which was much too hot, but worth it.

Harry's eyes were shut by the end of the film, and Nick let him sleep. He made himself a sandwich then went to work in the bedroom, far enough away that the sound might not wake Harry up. An hour or so later, Harry appeared in the doorway, hair sticking out all over the place. "Hey," Nick said, and patted the bed next to him.

"I checked the news," Harry said as he came over. Crap, Nick should have thought to confiscate his mobile. "It's not so bad, now. The tabloids are still running photos of, like, everybody. But the Guardian had this compilation of all these fans reacting on YouTube and Vine it was, um. Sick. So." He flopped down on the bed.

Nick rubbed Harry's back briskly. "That's good. Is this what you wanted, then?"

"I wanted nobody to care," Harry said. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "But, like, I knew that wasn't going to happen. I wanted to do it _because_ people were going to do this. Yeah? Like, everyone kept saying what a bad idea it was, and I kept getting angrier and angrier, because it's, like." He pressed his nose to Nick's arm. "It feels like a gift." 

"Yeah," Nick said. 

Harry kissed Nick's elbow and then pillowed his head on his crossed arms. "I would have done it anyway, and like, it wasn't because I thought it would, like, change your mind. But I'm glad you said yes."

"Me too," Nick said. 

He was going to take a screenshot from every one of those videos in the compilation and have them framed, so Harry would have something good to remember about this day. And maybe so Nick would, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, they managed to keep the press away from Pixie and George's wedding reception, even the arrivals, despite the guest list. Which was nice, because it meant that after his DJ set and then his contractually-obligated dance with Pixie and his other contractually-obligated dance with George, Nick got to abandon his groomsman duties and let Harry spin him around the floor a few times. It was exactly the sort of romantic nonsense Harry loved, and he held onto Nick with stars in his eyes the whole time. Lovely. It was the first chance he and Harry had had to be together in public—together-together, as a couple—because Harry was worried about the effects if Nick had to deal with the paps every day (and it wasn't like Nick was looking forward to that, either). But two months out from that article, a month away from a new tour, at a private event...it was as safe as they were going to get.

If he was honest, Nick was shocked that Harry was still putting up with him. But he'd learned not to express that, because the result was either a smack in the back of the head or big sad puppy-dog eyes, and he wasn't strong enough to resist either one.

"You should wear a tux more often," Harry said.

"I do look dashing and handsome," Nick agreed. "Look out, somebody might try to steal me away from you."

Harry leaned in close to Nick's ear. "Everybody wanna steal my girl," he sang softly over the music, "everybody wanna take her heart away..."

"Oooh, that's 5 Seconds of Summer, right?" Nick said innocently, then grinned when Harry pinched his side. But then he went back to looking at Nick adoringly, so that was all right.

He didn't think they were giving Pixie and George a run for the cute-couple money, and not just because they had the fancy clothes and Nick had a relatively sombre groomsman's outfit. But it was nice to dance out on the floor with everyone, like it was normal, smiling whenever Pixie and George kissed or did something silly. Funny how he could be so vicariously happy for them; that always surprised him about weddings, that he felt so good that his friends were happy.

Henry dragged Nick away a couple of songs later—"I'm worried about the public sex possibilities if you two keep looking at each other like that"—and Harry went off in search of the bar. Nick did the macarena all the way back to the head table, mostly empty since the crowd had moved to dancing or drinking. "So, that's going well," Henry said as they dropped into their chairs.

"Weird, innit," Nick said.

"No, not really. He's your type. Maybe it's surprising you got your shit together."

"Yeah, I dunno if I did." Nick shrugged. "It seems to be happening anyway."

"I don't envy you when it goes public."

"Yeah. 'S worth it, though."

"Good." Henry nodded, like he'd been waiting for the acknowledgment. Then he smiled faintly. "Do I get to design the bridesmaid dresses for _your_ wedding?"

"Even better, you can design mine," Nick said.

Henry laughed. "And you'll want it easy access, you slag."

"It's a dress. Isn't it easy access by definition?"

"Don't let Pixie hear you say that, or she'll put her train back on and make you carry it for the rest of the night."

"All right." Nick leaned back in his chair. "This is strange, isn't it."

"What is?" Henry said.

"Pixie, married."

"No, why?"

"Like—" Nick sighed. "Can't you remember us, all young and stupid and sharing that flat with Gillz? And now we've got real jobs, right, and we're all settled down or something. And the young ones are getting in on it too. It's just weird."

"Maybe," Henry said. "I don't usually think about it like that."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," Nick said. People changed, sure. He didn't really expect Henry to be the same way he was when they'd first met, or Aimee either. He liked the way they were now, better than ever. Maybe the comparisons weren't so useful. "I like what I have, I suppose. We've turned out well, haven't we?"

"I'm magnificent," Henry said. "You, I'm not so sure about."

"At least we're neither of us going bald," Nick said. 

Henry laughed. "You might look charming with that quiff and then a bald spot on the back—"

"Oh, shut up!" Nick fluffed up his quiff reflexively, but it was probably a lost cause at this point in the evening.

"Yes, we've all turned out just fine," Henry said. "Now, will you stop being a mopey bastard when you think nobody's looking?"

This was the point where, traditionally, Nick would smother him with a pillow or a nearby jacket, but it was harder when they weren't on a sofa or in a club.

"Hello, I'd like my boyfriend back, please," Harry said politely from behind Nick.

Henry smiled at Nick, a bit sharp, but Nick knew him well enough to know he was harmless. "All yours. Keep the pornography to a minimum, please," Henry said, and slipped off to another table.

Harry flopped into the chair Henry had vacated and put a couple of full bottles on the table. "A skeleton walks into a pub and orders a beer and a mop," he said.

Nick blinked. "What?"

"It's a joke," Harry said, with a tiny sad frown. "A skeleton walks into a pub...and orders a beer...and a mop."

"Ah, right," Nick said.

"Aren't you going to laugh?"

"Um," Nick said. Harry pouted. "Sorry, love. 'S not that funny."

"Hey," Harry said.

"Just because you have millions of teenage girls who want to suck your cock—"

"No slagging off the teenage girls," Harry said. "You want to suck my cock too."

"That's true."

"And if you'd like to continue sucking my cock, you should laugh at my jokes."

"Fine. I will try to laugh at your next joke."

"But not this one," Harry said, dangerously.

"I think the moment has passed, don't you?"

"Aw, Nick, crack a smile," Gillian said, claiming the empty chair next to him. "Look at how much he wants it."

Nick pulled the scariest fake smile he could think of. Harry rolled his eyes and pushed one of the bottles to him across the tablecloth.

Gillian shook her head at Harry conspiratorially. "It's a community effort, getting Grimmy good enough for you."

"Meddling!" Nick turned to Harry. "They're all meddlers. Don't listen to them."

"Why not? They're on my side."

That...was a good point. Nick didn't listen to it. He head-butted Harry in the shoulder and then looked up through his eyelashes. "Listen to _me_. I'm the one you like best, right?"

Harry fluffed up his hair. "Yes, babe."

Nick grinned toothily at Gillian, who rolled her eyes. "You're all traitors," he said.

"Hey, we give him these talks too," she said. "Just usually when you're not here."

"Daisy almost didn't let me hit on you," Harry said.

Nick glared at Gillian. "Why don't you do it in front of me?"

"Because you look at us like that," she said, laughing. "Like you're going to take your toys and go home if we're mean to him."

"And by toys she means me," Harry said. He poked Nick in the shoulder. "How long are we staying?" 

"Oh, we're shutting it down," Nick said. He sat up again. "I promised to help take down the decorations."

Harry nodded. "So I must entertain you for the next few hours, then."

"It's a hard job, I know."

"I'll help," Gillian said. "I'm very entertaining."

"Thank you, Gillian!" Harry said brightly.

Nick looked between them, rapidly getting worried. "What kind of entertainment?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "What do you think?"

"Hmm. We could get him drunk, but we see him like that all the time..."

"Hey," Nick said.

"No, definitely something more special than that," Harry said. "Crowd surfing?"

Gillian shook her head. "Too tall."

"What does my height have to do with—"

"Feed him ice cream?" she suggested. "We could watch him bloat up like a balloon."

"No, I have to share a room with him tonight," Harry said. 

"That's your objection? Not, 'No, Gillian, how cruel, to take advantage of my boyfriend's weak and sickly body'?"

"I've got an idea. C'mon. Let's make a Grimmy sandwich out on the dance floor."

"Help! I'm being abducted!" Nick yelled as they dragged him up from his chair, but it only made Emily and Gillian come over to help pull him, so that was all right.

* * *

"Hey, question," Nick said.

Harry hummed and did something on his mobile, not moving his hand where it was resting against Nick's shoulder as he sorted CDs on the living room floor. Strange, how much more enjoyable it was to do boring stuff when he was doing it in the same room with Harry.

"Had you figured out the bi thing when you got that mermaid tattoo?"

Harry looked down at his arm. "Um, don't think so," he said. "Maybe? It was, like, around then."

"You don't know?" 

"Wasn't that important." He shrugged.

Nick thought that, if it were him, he'd definitely know if the full frontal tattoo of a woman came before or after he figured out he wasn't only attracted to women. But Harry's brain was an endless, enjoyable mystery. "Okay, well. Giant life-altering memory holes aside, are you going to get a male one with a giant cock on your other arm?"

"Not funny," Harry said, despite the smile tugging at his mouth. "Would a male mermaid have a giant cock?" he continued thoughtfully. "Or would it have one of those sperm depositing things like a normal fish?"

"I dunno, love. But you're the one who got a mermaid with a fanny."

"It's a shadow," Harry said, sighing the sigh of the long-suffering.

"Yes. It's a shadow that just happens to look like a full bush, which, by the way, on behalf of hairy people everywhere, thanks."

"I like hair," Harry said.

"Lucky for you, because—"

"Oh, shut up." Harry messed with Nick's quiff. "I'd love you even with alopecia. Although your chest rug is very nice."

Nick's heartbeat was suddenly ringing in his ears, but Harry didn't seem to have noticed. "Harry," Nick said, and Harry met his eyes like he could hear something in Nick's voice, "did you just confess your love to me while we were having a discussion about mermaid sex organs?"

"Oh!" Harry said, quickly. He blinked at Nick. "Um—yes, yes I did." He bit his lip. "Is that okay?"

It hurt Nick, a bit, that Harry still had to ask. But he knew why, and he couldn't begrudge him the question—he could only reassure him, as many times as necessary until it sunk in. He grabbed Harry's ankles and hauled him onto the floor. Harry bit back a grin as Nick knocked him over and pinned him. "I dunno," Nick said. "How about we have sex and you can say it like a hundred times and we can pretend I fucked it out of you with my enormous cock, like a normal couple?"

"Only if you say it too," Harry said.

"I would love to," Nick said, and pulled down his pants.

* * *

Nick had never realized that it was fun to be in love. 

He'd watched his friends fall in love before, sure. He knew the pattern of dopey smiles and gratuitous mentions of lovers that most couples went through, and he'd seen some people who were, overall, more cheerful when they were in a good relationship than when they were single. And he'd attended enough weddings to know how thrilled people were when they got to marry each other (usually). He'd just never thought to apply any of that to himself. But it was just...nice. Like having a fun secret, a genuinely fun secret that he got to share with Harry, the two of them against the rest of the world.

"Did you steal my Yonce shirt, by the way?" he said. Funny how just talking to him could make Nick's day better, even with the distance.

After a few seconds, the usual intercontinental phone delay, Harry said, "I needed something to sleep in."

"You never," Nick said. "I've seen you sleep, nothing but balls and nipples."

"All right, you caught me," Harry said. "I didn't steal your shirt. I threw it out."

"You what?! I love that shirt! Why would you throw it out? Who said you could—"

"That's less fun when I have to wait for your reaction," Harry complained. "I'm joking. I took it, but I can't tell you why." Weird how Nick could picture the exact face he was making. But nice, or this separation might be even harder than it was.

"Ooh, is it a surprise?"

"Yes."

"Cool," Nick said. "Wait a sec, I've got to stir the sauce." Actually, he probably should have stirred the sauce a couple of minutes ago, but Harry was distracting.

"Mm." He sounded wistful. "What kind of sauce? I've been doing this, like, smoothie thing. I miss pasta."

"Are you going to come back even hotter? I'm not sure I can handle that. It might be too much for me."

"I'll probably just come back hungry," Harry said, his voice a slow pleased curl out of the speaker. "You'll have to feed me up."

"With a vodka sauce?" Nick said. "Meatballs, perhaps?"

"Oh, that sounds good."

"Grated parmesan, a nice breadstick..."

"Ugh, stop," Harry said. "I don't have time for phone sex right now."

"There goes my plan for the next two minutes."

"Hey." 

"How's the writing going?"

"Oh, it's good, we've—" A knock sounded from the phone, and some muttered words from another voice. "Okay, I really do have to go now," Harry said. "Enjoy your dinner."

"Enjoy your fancy popstar life," Nick said.

Harry laughed. "Okay."

"And come home soon."

"As soon as I can," Harry promised.

"Love you." How could two words feel so good to say?

"Love you, too," Harry said, and hung up.

* * *

In the half hour Nick took to walk Pig, Harry had managed to take over the entire kitchen table with paperwork. "What's this, then?" Nick said, dropping into his usual chair.

"Nosy," Harry said, with a little smirk to tell Nick he was teasing. "It's, uh, the contract extension. The greatest hits album, which we're going to do anyway, but we've got to work out the details. And then deciding whether we want to do a tour in support."

There were little Post-It flags all over the documents. "Have your lawyers looked it over?"

"Yeah. There are a few things to fix, but it looks good. Um, if I want to do it at all."

"Do you?" Nick said. He thought he knew the answer already, though.

Harry tilted his head from side to side, slowly, like he wasn't sure. "We've been touring a lot. I mean, it was a longer break this time."

"But you're out on the road again soon. I know."

Harry nodded and brushed his hand across Nick's. "Sorry. Yeah. So that's hard. But, it's the boys."

Still _the boys_ , six years on and into their twenties. "How are they feeling about it?"

"Niall wants to. Uh, Louis too. Liam hasn't decided."

Nick pushed the papers around, nervous. "So if you say no, and Liam says no, what do you do?"

"If any of us say a firm no, we don't," Harry said. "We're not going to lose anybody in the middle again."

Nick nodded.

"If I can't decide and Liam can't decide, then we do it. Or we could negotiate down to a shorter tour."

"You'll have to pack in more shows if you don't go as long."

"Yeah." Harry ran his fingers through his hair and frowned down at the papers again. "Sometimes I'm not good at, like, protecting my voice. So a shorter tour might be better."

Nick nodded again. He felt a bit like a bobblehead, but these were all good points. "How about the staff?" he said. "You going to hemorrhage more people if you do another tour again so soon? Might not be as fun if Caroline or, God forbid, Lou decides it's too much."

"The longer break helps," Harry said. "We already asked Lou about the scheduling, she said it would be okay."

"Good." Nick played with one of the Post-It flags, but didn't move it. It would probably cause the end of civilization if he did, these papers looked very serious. "What are you thinking?"

"Touring for a greatest hits album feels weird," Harry said. "Maybe if it was, like, a reunion or something. But Zayn's got his own album out, and we've been touring nonstop for five years; won't it be weird to come out and do like one new song? We wouldn't even need to change the set list."

"Makes rehearsal easy," Nick said. "Or you could cut into the album tracks. What's that one about morning wood?"

"Perv," Harry said happily, brushing his hand over Nick's knuckles. 

"Naw, you'd end up doing one of them terrible ones from the first album—"

"Hey!" He was grinning, though. Nick felt all warm and happy about it, Christ. "We could switch up the arrangements or something."

"Good. This is proper brainstorming. I'm feeling very corporate."

Harry smiled and poked through the papers. "Any other thoughts, then?"

"Well, this would delay your solo career—" Nick broke off as Harry looked up at him with wide eyes. "I mean, if you want one," he amended quickly.

"Yes," Harry said. "You think I can do it?"

Nick had to suppress an eye roll. "I thought that was the plan all along."

"Yeah, but I mean...you, like, know the industry. If you think I can make it..."

"If _I_ think you can make it?" Nick laughed. "You're surrounded by some very successful people in the industry, I dunno why you're listening to a washed-up old DJ."

"Oh, shut up." Harry poked Nick's knuckles again.

"So, yes, I absolutely think you can make it," Nick said. "But it'll delay you, if you do this tour. I don't think it would hurt you in the long run, because you're going to kill out there either way, but it's another year not doing your own stuff."

Harry nodded. He shuffled the papers again, and Nick sat there in silence, watching him. He was used to letting Harry work things out on his own time. Finally, Harry said, "What do you think?"

"It sounds like you're leaning towards a shorter tour, right? Better for the staff, better for your voice."

Harry looked down at the papers, then met Nick's eyes. "That's not what I was asking," he said.

"Oh?" Nick said politely. What had he been asking, then?

"What do _you_ want?"

Nick frowned. "It's your tour."

Harry sighed and pushed his hair back, more angrily than before. Nick had that disorienting feeling like he'd taken a step wrong and was about to fall down hard. "I know it's my tour," Harry said. "But we've got this—thing, right? And I don't want, like. I know you give great advice, you're a great friend. But I'm not looking for advice, I want to know what _you_ want."

"Harry—"

"No," Harry said sharply, and pointed between Nick's eyes. "No altruism. We're in this together. You get to be selfish."

Nick gaped at him. "That doesn't make any sense."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes it does."

Nick didn't say anything, because he didn't have much experience with relationships, but he definitely knew a stupid argument of _no it doesn't, yes it does_ wasn't the way to continue the conversation.

After a moment, Harry continued, overly patiently like he was suppressing some kind of annoyance. "I can't do things that make you happy if I don't know what makes you happy."

"Oh," Nick said. That did make sense. "But..."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You don't get to argue that I do not want to make you happy."

"Yes, but—"

"Do you want me to go on tour next year or not?"

"Not!" Nick said. Next year. That was terrifying; they were making plans for a year away based on a relationship that hadn't reached six months.

"Good! See, we're making progress," Harry said, and Nick bit back a snide comment. "And so now I can say a long tour is off the table, because you have affirmatively said that you would like me to stay home. And you and I can negotiate about what it means if I want to go, and what happens when I'm gone."

He still sounded irritated, but Nick was surprised—he hadn't thought that he could make that level of change in Harry's position. He was a frequent advice-giver, but he was ignored at least as often as listened to; to have Harry just change his plans like that was shocking. Would he have to do that? If something came up career-wise and it would mean moving, would he have to consult Harry? But then—of course he would, because the alternative was Harry maybe leaving him, and that wasn't a thing that could happen. Right.

"Anything else you'd like to add?" Harry asked, mouth twitching towards a smile.

Nick realized he'd been silent for longer than Harry was used to. Longer than anyone was used to, really. "No, that sounds reasonable," he said. "If you want to go on tour with the boys again, I think that's, you know, good. But I also like you here."

The smile came out full-on, and Nick poked Harry's dimple just to be silly. Harry snapped his teeth at Nick's finger. Okay. Maybe this was something he could have, long-term, after all.

* * *

He liked to ride Harry sometimes, just for the wide-open eyes like Harry couldn't believe he was so lucky, but mostly he felt like it was a waste of Harry's God-given giant prick and pneumatic hips. He'd never had a good fucking the way he did on his back with his feet to the ceiling whilst Harry worked between his thighs.

But it was nice, too, like this. Lying on top of Harry, rubbing slowly together, enjoying it. Nick was pulling up a nice bruise along Harry's collarbone, in a place he'd just decided he liked enough to claim, far enough to the side that it wouldn't show when Harry left his shirt partway unbuttoned. Slow and heated, with the duvet creating a furnace over them. Harry's fingers were flexing slowly where they pressed into Nick's back, but he wasn't trying to speed things either, just rocking his hips with one leg twined up and over Nick's so he couldn't get away, as if he'd want to.

Nick nipped the red mark he'd made and felt Harry's prick twitch. He went back for his mouth then, one long tangle of their tongues and then a few close-mouthed pecks, opening his eyes again because it was beautiful to watch Harry blink awake from wherever he went when they took it slow.

"You should do that somewhere people can see," Harry said, leaning his head towards the bruise.

Nick breathed out, hard, through his nose. It was still so fragile. He twisted his mouth, about to demur, and Harry noticed, of course.

"I don't like this," Harry said. "I want everyone to know I'm yours, I want—" He rubbed one eye with the back of his hand. He wasn't crying or anything, but he looked like he had a headache, or like he was—tired, or sad. 

"They know, love." Nick rubbed his nose on Harry's collarbone. "The press haven't left us alone for months, or the fans either. Why give them any more ammunition?"

"I want them to know what it means to me." He shook his head and frowned. "Please, Nick."

Nick had to kiss the look off Harry's face and then he stayed there, propped on his elbows, bracketing Harry off from the world. A cage of limbs with nobody but them inside, Harry's head resting on the pillow and letting Nick take what he wanted, and he _wanted_. He never lingered too long, addicted to the way Harry would open his eyes half-lidded every time Nick pulled away. But he never chased him: just laid there hazy until Nick came back, turned Harry's head with his mouth, didn't move anywhere else. 

It didn't matter what anyone else thought. This was theirs, and Nick would protect it. Harry gave too much away already.

He bit down on Harry's bottom lip, and kissed his top lip, and slipped his tongue inside Harry's mouth again. Harry slid his hands down to Nick's arse and started to pull him in harder where they were rocking together. 

He'd dreamed of this, once. Thought he wouldn't be able to have it. It was mad to think about that now, when his bed permanently smelled like Harry and they'd had to take over the guest bedroom closet for Harry's jeans. And when Harry knew where to knead, how fast to go, and Nick knew how to tweak his nipples and angle their dicks together so that Harry started rolling his hips and making noises in his ear—yes, yes, those—

Harry cursed and came between them, and Nick pressed his cock into Harry's firm belly and followed soon after.

"One day," Harry said sleepily, "one day we will have simultaneous orgasms."

Nick kissed his ear. "It's okay if we don't. I quite like our orgasms."

"Really, though," Harry said. Nick had hoped, in vain, that he'd tuckered him out enough to drop it. "You can do that where people can see."

With a sigh, Nick said, "You'll get more nasty comments."

"But I get you, and I like that tradeoff."

"Okay," Nick said. "Next time, if you want. Although we could also make actual plans to be open about this, if you want something besides speculation."

Harry sat up a little. "Really? You would?"

"Don't think it will be a surprise," Nick said. He took a deep breath. It felt more permanent than anything else had been, somehow, even though he didn't doubt any more that they were in this for the long run. "I'll call my publicist tomorrow."

Harry fell back and smiled, a tension falling away from his face that Nick hadn't realized was there. He stuck his face into Harry's shoulder. Harry mouthed at his jaw, grabbed some tissues to wipe up—ah, how the mighty had fallen—and fell asleep tangled with Nick, as beautiful as the day Nick met him.

* * *

The glasses made a satisfying clunk as Daisy set them down on the table. Nick eyed his suspiciously: it was the right size and shape to be a milkshake in some kind of American film, with a big red-and-white striped straw, but it was filled with something green and vegetable-y. Harry sipped his happily, of course. Nick took a smaller mouthful. It was fine, actually, kind of herbal and well-sweetened, but he made a face just to make Daisy laugh.

"Is this for the cookbook?" Harry said. "I like it."

"Yeah." Daisy took a delicate drink of her own. "You're my guinea pigs. If you die tomorrow, I'll know I can't include it."

"Pleased to be of service," Harry said solemnly.

Nick shook his head. "I thought the point of this natural stuff was that it was good for you."

"Mushrooms are natural," Harry said. "So's that fish thing that kills you."

Daisy frowned.

"The Japanese puffer fish whatever, you mean?" Nick said. Harry nodded.

"Well, there aren't any mushrooms in this," Daisy said. She smiled at both of them indulgently. Nick found that smile a bit irritating, if he was honest, but Harry always seemed to enjoy it. He was grinning a bit and knocking his shoulder into Nick's. Harry liked people thinking he was cute, and he loved Nick, and the the combination made him bashful and pleased, where it only made Nick feel exposed. But he supposed his feelings weren't exactly a secret, these days.

"What's in it, then?" Nick said.

"If I tell you, you won't buy my cookbook."

"How insulting!" Nick put a hand to his heart. "The _very idea_ that you wouldn't give me one for free—"

Harry giggled next to him, and Daisy wrinkled her nose. "See if I give you any rhubarb bars now, you ungrateful man," she said.

"Sorry, love. Of course I'll buy your cookbook." Nick dutifully took another sip of his drink.

Harry was nearly done with his. He slurped the last bits up with the straw, which made Daisy laugh. They'd make a good double act, if Nick didn't already have a claim in that department. "It's good, I like it," Harry said.

"Thanks!" Daisy took his glass and went over to the sink. While she was looking away from them, Harry quickly checked out her breasts. Nick suppressed a laugh. It was just a subtle flick of his eyes; Nick couldn't hate it. Another thing he liked about Harry that he probably shouldn't.

Daisy started scooping some bars out of a pan onto a plate. "I thought you were supposed to be in LA about now," she said over her shoulder. 

"Well, a smart woman told me I should come back to London more often if I was dating people here," Harry said.

Nick gasped in mock horror. "You've been talking about me behind my back?"

"I extracted several promises," Daisy said. She slid the plate across the table to Harry, then looked at Nick with raised eyebrows. "But you seem to be doing all right either way."

"Weird, innit," Nick said.

"I think," she said, taking a bar for herself, "that it seems just about perfect."

* * *

When Nick got home, Harry was ensconced on the sofa, guitar in hand and papers strewn around him. Harry said a cursory hello as Nick investigated the papers. He couldn't make sense of the organization, but he suspected there was some method in the madness: he knew enough artsy types to recognize a pattern his more linear brain didn't understand. The three cups of water in various states of emptiness probably didn't have much to do with it, though, except for the one that was clearly leaving a round wet ring in the middle of some scribbled chords. 

Nick made a fresh cup of tea for himself and some water with honey for Harry, then settled with his laptop in one of his armchairs. He could let Harry serenade him whilst he worked, after all. Nice and pleasant and homey, especially when Pig came to curl up at his feet. 

He listened to Harry with half a brain as he worked through some emails that needed answering. It was a good song, but Harry's were usually good, and Nick didn't think it was their relationship that made him think that. Harry messed up on some of the chords—he'd never applied himself to guitar the way he had to singing—but the structure was clear enough and it sounded good in his husky voice. Nick managed to finish two emails in the time Harry spent working out exactly which chord he wanted on part of the bridge, but by email number three Harry was playing it all the way through, and Nick stopped to listen when he started again.

Yeah, it was good, really good. And— "It's not a breakup song," Nick said when he'd heard the whole thing. Harry tended to get on certain themes and stay there for a while; it had been heartbreak for the last two albums.

"Don't get comfy," Harry said, with a smirk. "I don't write my life. For all you know I'm leaving you tomorrow."

Unbelievably, Nick didn't even twitch at that. He took a moment to enjoy the fact that he felt so secure about Harry that the joke didn't raise his blood pressure. "So I shouldn't read anything into the fact that it's a love song."

"Nope," Harry said, popping the 'p'. 

Nick reached over and patted Harry's toes, all he could reach from where he was. "Okay. But you owe me a love song."

" _I'm not gonna write you a love song, 'cause you asked for it, 'cause you need one, you see_ ," Harry sang softly. Free-associating, maybe. He'd know he didn't have to write one to make Nick stay.

"I do need one!" Nick said. "Then I can play it on the radio and feel smug."

"Like you need me for that."

"Aw, but I _want_ you." Nick grabbed Harry's toes and swung his foot back and forth. He was contorted awkwardly to reach, but he wouldn't stay like this long, anyway.

Harry smiled a slow pleased smile. "I'll write you all the songs you want," he said. 

"I dunno, I'm a very demanding person."

"I can handle it," Harry said. He leaned forward to take Nick's hand. "I've had a lot of practice, and I want to make it good."

Nick smiled and squeezed his hand and felt it all surging up in him, this happiness he'd found so unexpectedly when he was so unprepared for it. "You always do."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://goseaward.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/goseaward), if you'd like to say hello.


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